


Slip the Jesses

by Adara_Rose



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Aggressive Hawke, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Assault, Attempted Murder, Deaf Character, Drama & Romance, F/M, M/M, Minor Violence, Murder, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2018-12-08 14:59:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 43,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11648985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adara_Rose/pseuds/Adara_Rose
Summary: "Is it bad?" Alistair Theirin asks as he approaches the place where the blood covering the cobblestones have dulled to a deep, murky brown.It makes me believe in the evil of mankind,” comes Zevran Arainai’s grim reply.The city of Denerim is a city of differences, where elves, humans, and the occasional dwarf have lived side by side for centuries. When a brutally battered human is found in the alley behind one of the most infamous pubs in the city, Detective Alistair Theirin and his elven partner, Zevran Arainai, find themselves thrown into a maelstrom of lies, betrayals, infidelities, and dirty secrets. Everyone in the victim’s life has a something to hide, but if Alistair wants to prove himself as more than just Maric’s son he has to find out who is hiding the desire to see Caelan Hawke dead.Discovering why his wife won't let him anywhere near her new roses is something he can deal with later.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please be aware that Caelan Hawke is the aggressive version. As such he's a bit of an asshole.  
> That doesn't mean he does not deserve justice.

* * *

_Oh, the hazards of love -_  
_You'll learn soon enough_  
_the prettiest whistles_  
_won't wrestle the thistles undone_

   

It was Thursday evening, and it had rained a truly depressing cold, dark rain most of the day. However, as Detective Alistair Theirin sprinted from his car in the driveway to his front door, it had calmed down considerably. He still felt like a half-drowned cat when he came through the entryway. He hung his sopping coat on the rack, next to a yellow coat he immediately recognised as belonging to Kallian Tabris, his sister-in-law. After he kicked off his uncomfortably leaking shoes, he turned around to empty his pockets onto the small table by the door. It was a beautiful piece of furniture with flowers carved into the dark wood. Each of the four legs ended in a cat sitting on an intricate orb. The entire thing had been disgustingly expensive, what with being hand-crafted and unique, but his wife had wanted it. Alistair had been married for ten years and had yet to learn how to tell his wife ‘no’. He chalked it up to her being perfect, and people who said different were lying. It wasn’t her fault that most people never saw beyond the pointed ears.

Notebook, pen, cell phone, and guardsman ID badge went into the ceramic bowl. It was shaped like a sleeping mabari, and his brother had given him on his twenty-fifth birthday. It was the only item he had left to remind him of better times.  

 

He hung his socks to dry on the hallway radiator and padded into the kitchen barefoot. As he walked, he tried his best not to notice how his jeans chafed against his legs. The first person he spotted was his father-in-law, Cyrion Tabris, who was setting the table. Cyrion was an elven man in his early fifties, but he looked older. Life hadn't been kind to him, and the lines on his face ran deep. Having been unable to find other work due to being elven, he had spent most of his life doing hard labour. This had left him with a bad back and worn-out joints. These days, he ran a small bookshop in the elven quarter and hired Kallian to do all the heavy lifting. The only non-human player in the city’s only elven-friendly cricket team, she was strong enough that she could probably throw Alistair clean across the room if she felt so inclined. You’d never believe it from her slender figure and dainty hands, who were currently at work chopping a head of lettuce. He nodded at them both in greeting, but they were ephemerals compared to the vision by the stove. An elven woman with long golden hair hummed the same tune as her father while she stirred a large pot, the contents of which smelled absolutely divine. Her name was Beatrice, and she was the light of Alistair’s whole world.

 

Alistair slid up behind her, wrapped his arms around her swollen midsection, and rested his hands on her distended belly. If he focused, he could feel one of his sons move lazily beneath his hands. Holding her like this, he had to lean down to smell her hair. Petite Beatrice just barely reached his chest while he towered over her, but she fit just right all the same.

 “Hey honey.” She turned her head and smiled up at him. “How was work?”

“Boring. Paperwork.”

 “I thought being a guardsman was ninety-nine point seven percent paperwork?” she teased, her beautiful blue eyes twinkling. Beatrice was the sort of woman who seems to be made up of flowers, sunshine and gentle smiles, until the gloves came off and you realised that those flowers grew on barbed wire. Tonight, however, she seemed to be mostly content and nurturing. Then again, working as a gardener and growing the most beautiful roses in Denerim she was usually nurturing.

 “It is,” he agreed, “the rest are a statistical errors. Is that your fish soup?”

“Correct.” She dipped a spoon and held it up for him to taste. Alistair moaned in appreciation as the taste exploded on his tongue.

 “Did Zevran say when he and Bela was going to be over?” she was referring to his work partner, Zevran Arainai, and his life partner Bela, who coincidentally was Cyrion’s third child. “More saffron?”

 “No, but they know you’re making fish soup so I expect them to be knocking down the door in the next fifteen minutes. And it’s perfect, as always.”

 “Fifteen minutes? That gives you time to shower and change. I’ve put out fresh towels.”

Alistair stared at his wife. He could see the lines of exhaustion around her expressive eyes, and wondered once more what he had done to deserve a woman who always took the time to look after him.

 “Maker’s breath, I am a lucky man” he whispered reverently as he leaned down to kiss her forehead.

 

* * *

 

A few streets away, the Hawke family was also getting ready for Thursday dinner. It used to be Sunday lunch, but since Caelan had started working weekends that had required a change.

 

“I’ll get them” Caelan called as the potato timer went off. A human male of average height, he sported dark hair and a well-kept beard. He’d grown the beard out to hide the feminine form of his chin and jaw in his late teens, and ten years on it was part of him. His mother Leandra still didn’t like it, but she was conservative like that. She liked it even less that he had quit his office job to go into woodworking full time, but Caelan chalked it up to her being sore he’d broken up with his then fiancee at the same time. He loved his mother, but she had the unfortunate trait of thinking she knew what was best for everybody. Usually without asking them first.

 

His younger sister Anna scrambled out of the way as he opened the oven. He pulled out a tray of perfectly golden potatoes, smelling faintly of rosemary. “Pass the salt?” he asked, and she did a weird little half-turn to reach the shaker with her healthy right arm. Anna’s left arm had been badly burned in a fire back when she worked as a firefighter. She still could not unbend the fingers or twist the elbow, and most likely, she never would.

“I’ll go tell father dinner's ready” she said, disappearing through the door into the living room. Malcolm Hawke was deaf since birth, so she could not simply call out to him.  

“Use the blue dish, honey,” Leandra ordered as she turned of the stove and poured the gravy into a bowl.

 

“Sure” Caelan agreed, distracted. The golden colour of the potatoes had made him think of another shade of gold, the most beautiful shade in the world. Then again, if you asked him, everything about Anders was examples of perfection. Eighteen months and he was still completely starstruck over the man, to Anna’s endless merriment.

 

The meat was a bit on the dry side, but once complimented by gravy, it was perfectly fine. Caelan wasted no time complimenting his mother. Leandra’d had a rough time lately and it didn’t hurt to cheer her up, especially since his little sister Bethany seemed to be rather subdued. Bethany’s twin, Carver, as always said very little but Bethany could usually keep the conversation going with only their mother as a partner.

 

Once the dinner plates had been cleared and the dessert - Bethany’s pecan pie - had been fetched, Caelan couldn’t hold back his news any more.

“May I have everyone’s attention, please” he asked out loud as he reached over to his father and knocked on the table in his field of vision. As he did, Bethany touched Carver’s arm to make him look up from his pie.

 

 **_‘I have something important to tell you’_ ** Caelan signed. **_‘I am going to ask Anders to marry me’._ ** With those words, he pulled a small box from his pocket, opened it, and passed it to Anna. She admired the exquisite wooden ring inside. She recognised his style of tiny flowers and leaves, and the piece of amber in the middle was a peculiar shade of gold. She handed the box to Carver, then smiling signed ‘ **_It’s gorgeous’._ ** Carver nodded, giving his brother a thumbs up as he passed the ring to his father.

 **_‘Very beautiful’_ ** , Leandra agreed. **_‘You made it yourself?’_ **

**_‘Yes, completely. It’s taken me months to find the right stone. It’s the colour of his eyes,’_ ** Caelan explained proudly.

 **_‘Beautiful’,_ ** Bethany echoed her mother, her face unnaturally pale. Malcolm frowned at his daughter’s distressed expression.

 **_‘Bethany?’_ ** He signed, clearly concerned.

Bethany tried to smile but failed miserably. ‘ **_I’m fine’_ ** **,** she replied.

 

* * *

 

Alistair and Bela gathered up the plates and took them to the kitchen, fetching the chocolate cake Beatrice had made at the same time.

“Now will you tell us what we’re celebrating?” Zevran mock-complained to Anders, who had said very little during the entire meal.

“Yes, tell us!” Kallian urged, “I’m about to faint!”

Anders blushed, but smiled. His amber eyes had a soft, happy glow to them.

“And besides” Beatrice pointed out, “if you and Kali want to eat cake _and_ make it to that show, you’re going to have to hurry up.”

“Very well,” Anders said, accepting a thick slice of cake from Alistair. “I am going to ask Caelan to marry me.”

 

There was complete silence for several moments. Then, three voices cried out in happiness at once, and Anders found himself in a congratulatory group hug with the Tabris siblings.

 

* * *

 

Leandra looked at her daughter with obvious concern.“What’s wrong, honey?” she asked gently as she filled up the dishwasher.

“Oh mum,” Bethany’s lower lip trembled. “I wish… if only… he always...” she didn’t have to say anything else. Leandra knew exactly what she was referring to, and she wiped away a few stray tears from her daughter’s cheek.

“It’s going to be alright, honey,” she promised. “Mum will take care of everything. I’m sure he’ll understand once I’ve talked to him.” she didn't exactly know how, but this was her baby girl. Leandra was going to make sure Bethany never had any reason to be this unhappy again. Caelan was usually very understanding; he’d step down gracefully. And then Bethany could have the fairy tale she deserved.

  
“Mum?” Caelan called from the hallway. “I have to go.”

 

Leandra drew a deep breath, then hurried into the hallway to get a few words with him.

“Be careful,” she said, more out of a sense of obligation than anything else. “Caelan, honey, I was thinking- Merrill is such a dear girl-”

Caelan’s brown eyes turned cold. “I am not having this discussion again. Anders and I are getting married, and Bethany is going to have to _grow the hell up_.”

Leandra let her arms fall helplessly to the sides. “I just want what’s best for everyone,” she said quietly.

“No you want what’s best for _Bethany._ ” he snarled, and then he was gone. The door slammed shut behind him, leaving Leandra feeling as if something important had just slipped out of her grasp. She didn’t know how to get it back.

 

* * *

 

Kallian looked at the clock and nearly flew to her feet.

“Anders, we have to go or we’ll miss the start!” she cried. Anders was much calmer than the twenty-two year old and finished his cake.

“It was delicious, Bee, as always.” He gave Beatrice a quick hug. “Sorry about game night.”

“Oh rot,” she smiled back, “we’ll play next week. You have tickets for opening night; that’s much more important. Now go, Kali’s right - you don’t want to miss the start.”

Bela and Zevran looked at each other.

“We should probably go, too.” Bela folded zir napkin, even though it had been used.

“Come father, we’ll drive you home.”

“Thank you,” Cyrion said, “let’s just help put the dishes way first.”

 

* * *

 

Caelan pulled his collar up as he hurried down Ostagar street. Once more he cursed both Varric Tethras, his boss, for making him come out this late on a Thursday evening for a paycheck. He also cursed himself for his inability to say no. he could have been safe at home in bed with Anders, but no. He had to be hurrying through an alley that was so dark you could barely see your hand in front of you. The wind and rain were picking up too, and Caelan had no doubt that his shoes would be leaking by the time he got to the Hanged Man.

He stopped for a moment, squinting into the dark. He knew there was a big dumpster about halfway down the alley, and he didn’t feel like colliding with it just because he was in a hurry. That’s when the voice called out to him.

Both bewildered and angry, he turned around to face the caller. For a moment he was confused; the coat wasn't supposed to be there. And why would the owner of that coat be in town this late at night? He raised his hand to his face in an attempt to see better.

“Oh come on” he groaned when he recognised the person. “I’m not in the mood, okay? Just… just go home, and I’ll forget the whole thing and things won’t be awkward or anything. Just let it go. _Please_.”

He realised a little too late that, for the other person, _letting it go_ was no longer an option.


	2. Chapter 2

The call from dispatch came at that time that’s either really late night or obscenely early morning. By the time Alistair had disentangled himself from his soft wife and warm sheets, dressed and driven out to the crime scene, the blood had already dried to a dull, rusty brown. He approached the scene closed off by an over-enthusiastic rookie with an unlimited supply of blue tape, wondering if this was the time when he’d wish he’d stayed back home on the farm like Uncle Eamon had wanted. By the look on Zevran’s face, it would at least get close.

 

Accepting the styrofoam mug of takeaway coffee the elf offered him, Alistair ducked under the tape and approached the area where the usual crime-scene people were milling around. 

“Bad?” Alistair not-asked as he approached. The chill that took up camp in his fingers abated somewhat, and he looked to Zevran, who just barely reached his shoulder.

Zevran grimaced as he stared intently at his feet, making sure not to step in any of the blood splattered all over the place like a macabre painting.

“It makes me believe in the evil of mankind,” his soft, Antivan accent gave the words an erotic note, but his face was grim. Zevran Arainai, station heartthrob and ruthless seducer until he’d gotten married six months previous, was Alistair’s professional partner of five years. It was an old joke between them that their respective life partners had arranged the whole thing. Alistair would not put it past Beatrice and Bela to plot such a thing, but those speculations were not suitable here, so Alistair sipped the coffee and made the same half-walk, half-dance shuffle as his partner as they moved closer. If they stepped in so much as a drop of evidence, the techs were going to  _ murder _ them. Very, very slowly. 

 

They were standing in a long, narrow alley that led between Ostagar Street and Highever Lane, the two big party streets of Denerim. It would probably have been a very popular shortcut if it wasn’t for the lack of streetlights, which made it nearly impossible to navigate even with the grey light of the dawn. The guards had put several large spotlights in strategic parts around the alley, but there was still a feeling of darkness and secrets. If the attack had been premeditated, it was both a risky and safe place to do it in. risky because there were always people nearby, safe because they would most likely not have entered the alley.

 

As they moved, Alistair remembered his father’s words about first impressions.  _ You only see the scene for the first time once, Alistair. If you overlook something important, you’ve fucked yourself for later.  _ And Maric had known what he had talked about; he had been a guardsman long before Alistair had been born, and a hostage negotiator for the majority of those years. Unfortunately, Maric Theirin had ended up eating his service revolver mere hours after having turned his oldest son in for being the serial rapist and murderer known as  _ the angel maker. _ The name of Theirin had been marred with suspicion and rumours ever since, but Alistair was not going to let that stop him from doing his job to the best of his ability.

 

Keeping Maric’s words firmly in mind, Alistair looked around. This time, he told himself sternly, he was not going to try to take in everything at once. It only ended up making his neck hurt. There were the usual alley debris; a knocked over trash can, random pieces of rubbish, a worn-out mattress stained by… he did not want to know. And on the ground, a grotesque amount of blood mainly pooled around the head and chest of the chalk outline of a person. Judging by the size of the outline and the proportions of the limbs to the body, Alistair concluded that the victim was most likely human. Beaten badly, but with what sort of weapon he’d have to wait for the CSI’s report to find out. As his eyes took in the gory scene, Alistair turned to Zevran.

“Do you know if they’ve called Isabela?” he asked as he drank some of the coffee. Hot and sweet, it was just the way he wanted it on a night like this. Zevran had, as always, gotten it just right without needing to ask. He was referring to the Blood Spatter Analyst that had in the two months she’d worked in the lab turned out to be one of his favourite people. She was completely outrageous, took no shit from anyone, and seemed to have an instinct for when to be supportive and when to crack a joke. Basically, she reminded him of his wife.

“Yup, they did!” A CSI dressed in spectacularly hideous red overalls looked up from where she was crouched down, taking pictures of the splatter outlining the carefully drawn chalk outline of a body. “Just as I was getting the required twenty winks. Remind me to shoot someone later.”

“You’re to shoot someone later” Zevran deadpanned. In reply, Isabela flipped him off before going back to her documentation, forcing Alistair to look away to keep from snorting with laughter.

“I thought you had the night off?” he asked instead, reminding himself of the importance to get as much information as possible from everyone.

“I did until some asshole decided to get food poisoning.” Isabela sounded more than a little cranky. “Damn him.” Her camera snapped a few more times.

Alistair made a sympathetic face. “That sucks on so many levels.” He raked a hand through his sandy blonde hair and realised that he’d forgotten to comb it before leaving home. “Do we know anything about the victim?”

“Well, he was still breathing when the guardsmen got here, so there is that. No identity though - idiots forgot to check his pockets. You’ll have to ask at the hospital.”

Isabela stood up, still clutching the camera. “If there is nothing else, shove off and let me work.”

 

Alistair obediently shoved off, Zevran in tow, towards the edge of the red tape where a uniformed guardsman stood with a very pale young elf. He was thinly dressed, clearly out for a night of clubbing.

“Hello” Alistair said in as kind a voice as he could manage, “was it you who found the body?”   
The youth nodded, eyes enormous and petrified in his slender face.

“What’s your name?” Alistair asked, in the same tone of voice.

“Senrion” the youth whispered, barely audible. “I… I was just going to the Pearl. It’s elf night.” The Pearl was the second most infamous bar in Denerim; basically, anything and anyone was for sale if you had the money. They also had ‘free’ drinks for non-humans on Thursdays, with the implication that you had to pay for your drinks in trade. Basically, it was a free for all for humans who wanted to take a walk on the wild side.

“And you found the victim?” Zevran’s voice was unusually gentle.

“Yes… he was just lying there. So much blood.” the youth’s lips trembled as if he was about to cry.

“I’m going to have my colleague here drive you home, yeah?” Alistair said when he realised the youth was in shock and not able to tell him anything. He turned to the fresh-faced officer.

“Get his information, I’m going to want to speak to him in the morning. And make sure he gets home  _ safely. _ ”

“Yes, sir.”

Alistair watched as the officer escorted the trembling Senrion to the squad car, helped him into the passenger seat and drove off. 

Then he turned back to the scene, relieved to see that Isabela had put away her camera and seemed hard at work collecting evidence. 

 

* * *

While this was going on in the alley of Ostagar, the healers at Andraste’s Grace were preparing for emergency services. Andraste’s Grace was the largest hospital in northern Ferelden, and it housed her best healers. One of them, was Anders. He was not exactly happy at being called in, but they were in the middle of flu season and sorely understaffed. There had been no choice but to throw himself into a taxi (car still refused to start) when he got the call. He pushed away the consternation of the other half of the bed still not being slept in when he left, but figured that Caelan was going to show up in the morning with pastries and apologies. He pulled on the elbow high tuning gloves, grimacing at the sticky feel of them. They were made of a material that supposedly made the flow of his magic more easy to direct, but in Anders’ opinion it was just another way to control him. However, he wasn’t allowed to operate without them, so on they went as he headed into the healing chamber.

“Report” He ordered the nearest nurse as he put his tired mind into the mindset he needed to be as effective as possible.

“Unknown male, head trauma, severe cranial bleeding-” he listened with half an ear, taking in the situation himself. There was an obscene amount of blood; he’d have to deal with that before anything else in order to see the actual extent of the trauma. Well then; deal with the bleeding, repair any busted blood vessels, get a collar in place and get the poor schmuck down to x-ray for brain scans. 

“Clear space!” he ordered, and the present personnel scrambled back to give him space to perform his magic.

 

* * *

 

Zevran was a highly competent, if reluctant, driver. Exactly why he was so reluctant to drive Alistair had never found out, but he was used to it by this point and simply popped the trunk open to let his partner stuff his small, foldable bike inside. No words were exchanged as they got in the car, and Alistair was unendingly thankful for this as Zevran drove towards Andraste’s Grace. The city was quiet, and as they drove through the dark streets they said very little. Alistair took the chance to make sense of what he had learnt so far, and to finish his much needed coffee. As Zevran navigated past the mess of one-way streets of the Market District, Alistair went to pull out the notebook he always had in his front pocket to write down his thoughts and impressions. To his consternation, it was empty except from his phone. It also made no sense as he never left home without it, but then he remembered that he had finished it the previous day and left it on the hall table. No notebook. Shite, no notebook. Hands trembling, he pulled out his phone to- well, he didn’t know. Call Beatrice? She was always level-headed and would tell him what to do. As the screen lit up, he saw he had a missed text. With shaking fingers he opened the message and immediately felt a great sense of relief. “ _ New notebook in glove compartment. Sorry about the unicorn. Stay safe, love you. B”. _

Opening the glove compartment, he immediately spotted a cheerily pink notebook with a frolicking unicorn on the front. It was rather ugly, but he could always buy a new one later. This was an emergency. Clipped to the front was two pens, one black and one green, waiting for him to use them. That woman was a lifesaver. Why she insisted on sticking with him he’d probably never know, but he’d make damn sure to appreciate every moment he got to have her. 

“Some nights I wish I’d stayed back on the farm” Alistair muttered as he turned on the overhead light and started writing with the black pen. Black for work, colour for everything else. “I don’t understand people. So much blood-” he didn’t finish the sentence, in some way not wanting to hear the words in his own voice. Instead, he started drawing a crude layout of the crime scene, listing who had been present and what he had learnt so far.

Zevran made a noncommittal sound as he pulled into the parking lot, getting the car perfectly into the square at the first try. He always made it seem so effortless.

“I’m more worried they won’t let us work the case.” The elf remarked as they got out of the car and started to walk towards the entrance. “You know the talk. You’re a loose cannon and I’m- well.”  _ an elf,  _  he didn’t say but it hung in the air between them.

“That’s rot!” Alistair protested as he reluctantly put the notebook back into his pocket to keep from stumbling over something due to not paying attention. “Greagoir keeps saying we’re the best he’s got. And you are twice as smart as me on a bad day!”

Zevran’s elegant, angular features twisted briefly as he pushed open the doors to the emergency room.

“Yeah, well. Let’s do our best. If we’re taken off the case, we’ve at least given our replacements a good place to start.”

“Fair enough” Alistair agreed quietly. “Now let’s see if we can find someone to answer a few questions.”

Zevran nodded once, sharply, then made his way over to a pretty human nurse standing by the reception desk, reading a file.

“Hello sweet thing” he drawled in the way that always made people give him whatever he wanted. He pulled out his badge with a lazy smile. “Detective Arainai. This is my partner, Theirin. You don’t happen to know anything about the assault victim brought in tonight?”

The nurse flashed a quick, slightly dazed smile that Alistair knew well. It was the expression most people got when faced with Zevran in full charm mode. It was only a matter of time before she said something about ‘not usually liking elves’. However, he felt immensely grateful the woman seemed distracted enough by his partner's looks not to ask uncomfortable questions about his name. Yes, Theirin as in Maric Theirin. Yes, it was very sad that he killed himself. No, he didn’t have the urge to follow in his father’s footsteps. No urge to kidnap, assault, and murder underage boys with the right colouring either, sorry to disappoint you. He had his brother’s looks, not his madness.

“Sorry, he’s in surgery.” the nurse shook her head. “I can’t tell you anything else.”

“Do you know who’s working on him?” Alistair asked, doing his best not to think of his personal preference.

“Warden,” she replied promptly, and Alistair felt a great surge of relief. Anders was one of the best healers in the city, if not the country. If anyone could perform miracles it was him.  

The nurse made as if to leave, but luckily the coffee had kick-started Alistair’s brain enough to stop her.

“Wait. Please, one more question. Have you figured out the victim’s identity yet? There was a mixup at the scene.” Alistair pulled out the unicorn notebook once more, getting ready to note down the information.

“Oh. Yes, we have his identity. Caelan Hawke.” 

Alistair froze, pen raised.  _ Caelan Hawke?  _ It wasn’t exactly a common name. But surely it couldn't be  _ that  _ Caelan Hawke. He wondered if Anders had realised whose life he was saving yet. Lucky for him, Zevran was more put together and said;

“If we should need to speak to you further, ma’am-” 

“My name is Derington.” she replied with a smile that revealed a dimple in her chin. “That’s with one R.” 

“Thank you” Alistair said faintly, hand shaking as he wrote it down. “And thank you for taking time to speak to us.”

“Of course. If there was nothing else-” 

“Thank you” Zevran injected smoothly, “Please notify us the moment Caelan’s out of surgery.”

“Of course. You’ll inform the family?”

“Yes, of course.”

Then the nurse was gone in a flurry of dark hair and white uniform and Zevran and Alistair were left staring at each other.

“I don’t think we’ll get any further right now” Zevran said grimly, “and I don't know about me, but you look like you could use a shave. And breakfast.” Alistair nodded, not bothering to argue the point. Besides, Zevran was right. His wife may say that he was dead sexy in two-day stubble, but she was biased. 

“Let’s go break the hearts of Serah and Mrs Hawke” Alistair said with a sigh, “then I’ll drive you home.”

 

* * *

 

Anders leaned back, examined his handiwork, and turned to the assistant nurse. “Get him down to x-ray stat and try to figure out who he is” he ordered, a niggling feeling in the back of his mind saying he already knew.

“Yes, sir” she replied, sounding as tired as he felt. He turned on his heel and stalked out of the theater, not wanting to be in the sterile coldness of the room a moment longer than necessary. He might be a good surgeon, but he didn’t particularly enjoy it. To be honest, he would have been just as happy as a general practitioner, but his mentor at med school had talked him into surgery. As he removed his gloves, a young nurse hurried towards him, looking frazzled. 

“Doctor!” She cried, and he put a hand on her shoulder to calm her down. 

“It’s alright, take a deep breath and tell me.”

“The man in surgery one, I took care of his clothes.”

“I know, that was very good of you.” She was new; just an apprentice with wide, anxious eyes.

“I found his ID. Oh, and there were two guards here, Theirin and- I don’t remember the name, he was elven-” Alistair and Zevran. Anders immediately felt calmer.

“Arainai. I know them, they’re good people. Some of Denerim finest. You informed them?”

“Yes, I gave them the name and emergency contact, like they said in school.” her brown eyes were anxious, seeking approval.

“Very good.” he praised, and she blushed and looked away.

“Thank you. You did well.” Anders soothed, “Oh, by the way - what is his name?”   
“Who? The detective?” She was clearly confused.

“The victim. The name of the victim.”

“Oh.” She handed him a piece of plastic. An ID card. “Hawke” she said unnecessarily as he looked at it, “Caelan Hawke.”

Anders’ world shattered into a thousand pieces.

 

* * *

 

Malcolm and Leandra Hawke lived in a well-kept two story house in one of the better neighborhoods. It was widely considered middle-class, but if you asked Alistair that was complete rot - prejudice and bigotry at its finest. It would have been the best neighborhood if it wasn't for the fact that it lay so close to the elven alienage. It was also, coincidentally, about three streets over from his own home. Zevran and his partner Bela lived in a condo in town, about ten minutes walk from the station. Alistair's feet grew heavier and heavier as he walked up the neatly raked gravel path, past the flowers shyly peeking up at him in the flower beds. Some of them he recognised from his own garden, but horticulture had always been Beatrice's thing more than his and he had no idea of the names. He rang the doorbell, wishing desperately he did not have to be here.

After a few moments, the door was opened by a young woman in grey sweatpants. She had short dark hair in an elegant bob, and it was clear from her unfocused dark eyes that she had been sleeping.

"Yes?" she asked, not overly friendly but not resentful either.

"I'm Alistair Theirin. This is my partner, Zevran Arainai." Alistair said as he held up his badge. "May I ask who you are, miss?"

"Bethany Hawke. What can I help you with this early?" She sounded more honestly confused than anything else.

"Please, we need to come in and speak to you and your parents. Can you wake them?"

Bethany nodded, then stepped aside. 

"The living room is just down the hall" she said, "please wait there while I get them." 

 

The living room was a bright, airy room with furniture worn in a way that spoke of loving use more than age. Alistair examined the pictures hanging on the wall, thinking of the happy family that lived in this house. A family he was there to shatter. He knew the Hawkes had four children, and based on his memory of Caelan's dark brown eyes and strong jaw he quickly identified the most likely candidates. A dark-haired boy looking straight into the camera with solemn features, the shape of his face identical to Caelan's, must be Carver. The younger brother. They'd already seen Bethany, who did not share any obvious features with her brother except for his colouring. There was also several portraits of a pretty blonde woman, who seemed to be laughing or smiling in every picture she was in. She looked absolutely nothing like Caelan, until you looked closer and saw that her eyes, while bright blue, had the exact shape, depth and gleam as his. By eliminating all other possibilities, Alistair drew the conclusion that this was Anna. The eldest sister. 

"Beautiful, wasn't she?" A voice cut into his distraction and he spun around, biting back an alarmed curse.

A white-haired woman stood before him, dressed in a purple robe. If it hadn't been for the fact that he was in her house, Alistair would have immediately identified her just by looking at her face. She had her son's high forehead, his strong cheekbones and the slight curl to the lips that made her seem as if she was on the verge of smiling. Her eyes were a bright, worried blue - the blue of Anna and Carver. Leandra Hawke was a beautiful woman, even though clearly past her prime. The years had been good to her.

“Was?” he couldn’t help but ask.

“Before the fire.” there was a well of sadness in Leandra's eyes, and Alistair’s heart stuttered at the realisation that he was about to add to it. 

"Mrs Hawke" Alistair said, "please, come sit down with me." 

Though clearly reluctant, Leandra did what he asked. She sat down on the sofa nearest the window, subconsciously clasping her husband's hand in hers.  Alistair and Zevran took their seats on the other sofa, placed at an angle from the first one so that you could see both the breathtaking view and the people sitting on the other sofa. To Alistair's surprise, Bethany did not place herself next to her parents but instead chose to stand between the sofas, turned towards her father. He got his explanation when the girl raised her hand and started signing. 

"My husband is deaf" Leandra said in a matter of fact tone. "Carver too. Please, why do you wake us at this early hour?"

Alistair drew a deep breath, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees as he tried to think of a way to tell them what he did not want to have to tell them. Thankfully, Zevran sensed his reluctance and said;

"Madam, Serah, when did you last speak to your son, Caelan?"

Confusion warred with fear in Leandra's eyes.

"Last night, why? He was here for dinner. Has something happened?"

"Yes, madam." Zevran's voice was just the right mix of sorrow and determination as he focused his deep blue eyes on the woman.

"At about two this morning, your son Caelan was found savagely beaten in an alley just of Ostagar Street. As we speak, he is in surgery at Andraste's Grace. I regret I cannot tell you more about his condition."

There was a noise that Alastair was never going to forget, no matter how old he got. The wounded, anguished cry of a dying animal, an animal not knowing how to deal with its circumstances but knowing the hunters were closing in. An animal that found itself trapped and helpless, facing certain doom. The noise had come from Malcolm Hawke, who was staring at the detectives with a despair that made tears spring to Alistair's eyes. He was trying to say something, broken sounds coming out of his mouth in a litany of unimaginable despair.

It took a few moments, but eventually Alistair's brain caught on and he managed to interpret the garbled syllables.

_ "My boy. My boy. My boy." _

 

* * *

 

After having taken the Hawke family to the hospital and called fellow detective Aveline Vallen to ask her to inform Anna and Carver, Alistair drove Zevran home. Zevran had offered to bike from the hospital, but Alistair wouldn't hear of it. Eventually, the elf had given in and as they pulled in on the street Zevran lived on, the silence was deafening. Neither of them felt like speaking; they'd known each other for eight years and been partners for five, after all. They knew each other well by this point. Finally, Alistair broke the silence.

"Station in two hours?" he offered. Zevran nodded, rubbing his forehead in the way he did when he had a headache coming on.

"Sounds good" he sighed, "I need a shower. Breakfast."

"And Bela?" Alistair teased, wanting to lighten the mood. Zevran cracked a half-smile.

"And Bela." he confirmed, then he was gone. Alistair listened to the sounds of his partner getting his bike from the trunk, then drove home. If he knew Zevran right - and he did - the lovely Bela was going to be awakened this miserable morning to a lover hell bent on burying himself so far in zir body as he could get, just to shut out the world for an hour. To be honest, Alistair was in no position to judge. If it wasn't for the fact that Beatrice was seven months pregnant with twins and sex was out of the question unless she initiated (healer’s orders), he'd probably be doing the same thing.

 

Alistair drove home slowly, watching the city start its day unaware of the horror he had seen that night. And he hadn't even showed up until after the EMTs had gone. He thought of the poor officers that had been first on scene, or worse; the young man who had called it in. They'd have to interview him as fast as possible, he thought as he pulled up on his own street. He blinked in confusion at the unfamiliar car standing in his driveway, wondering who would show up at his door at seven in the morning. As he got closer he saw the sticker for 'Denerim City Firefighters' on the bumper. Kallian, then. Beatrice's sister. Alistair parked on the street, and slowly walked up his driveway. He felt exhausted, but not bodily. He thought again of blood on cobblestones. The cruelty. The horror insinuated by the amount of blood, and how far it had spread. Caelan was still in surgery, and they had no idea how long it would take or what his chances were. Really, they had no idea about anything. Except the fact that someone had wanted Caelan Hawke dead badly enough to beat him to within an inch of his life.

 

Alistair opened his front door, kicked of his shoes, hung up his coat and placed his notebook and pens on the table by the door. Sighing deeply, he chose to follow his nose and rumbling stomach into the kitchen, where the divine smell of someone making blueberry pancakes was coming from. Ignoring his sister-in-law sitting by the counter, and therefore missing the look of momentary panic and fear on her face, he went straight over to his wife. Beatrice stood by the stove, expertly flipping the promised blueberry pancakes. Her blond curls were done up in her usual messy sleep-braid, and in her pale green nightgown she was the most beautiful creature he had ever laid his eyes on. He kissed a delicately pointed ear before burying his face in her hair. Beatrice put down the spatula, turned off the stove and turned to embrace him.

"Hey, baby" she murmured gently, running her hands down his slightly trembling back. "is it bad?"

"Yeah," he whispered into her hair. "it's... it's bad."


	3. Chapter 3

After having had more of Beatrice’s pancakes than his stomach wanted him to (resulting in a mild stomach ache), and showered and shaved, Alistair was ready to go back to the station to start the actual investigation. But first, he had to talk some sense into his wife.

Beatrice was wringing her hands, looking as if she was one lonely puppy away from a crying fit. He  _ hated _ her crying fits - they always made him want to cry, too.

“Sweetheart” he soothed as he pulled her close. “I know you’re worried sick about Anders, but they’ve got him on sedatives. Zevran is bringing Bela in, so he won’t be alone. And you need to rest, remember? The healer was very strict. If he finds out you’re out of bed-”

“I know” her smile was wan, but it was there. “He’ll have me hospitalized. I hate hospitals.” 

“And I’ll have someone drive Anders here as soon as possible so you can fret over him in person, alright?”

“Alistair!” Beatrice squawked indignantly, but the mild jibe had done it’s job - she was smiling properly now. He pressed a loving kiss to her temple, then turned to Kallian.

“Now I can’t keep her out of the garden, so I won’t even try. But I expect YOU to do all the work. She is to sit in her deck chair and give orders, understand?”

Kallian smiled, not quite as brightly as she usually did but Alistair chalked it up to worrying about her sister and childhood friend.

“I’ll only let her up to use the bathroom” she promised solemnly.

“You swear?” he teased, and Kallian cracked a half-smile.

“On the chant.”

“If I found out different, I’ll charge you with perjury.” Alistair warned half-jokingly, kissed Beatrice once more, and then went to the front door to leave.

 

“Got everything?” Beatrice asked as she waddled after him into the hallway.

“I think so” Alistair replied, trying not to sound too stressed as he pulled his coat on.

“Phone? Keys? Badge? Notebook? Pens?”

Alistair patted his pockets in confirmation for each item.

“Check, check, check, check, and check. Thanks love.”

He leaned down to kiss her sweet lips once more. If he could spend a whole day just kissing Beatrice, he’d die happy.

 

Beatrice smiled and waved as she watched him drive off. Once he was gone, she closed the door and turned to her sister. 

“What is it?” Beatrice asked. Kallian frowned in bewilderment.

“I have never in all the years I’ve known him experienced Alistair forgetting  _ anything. _ ” She finally ventured.

“There’s nothing wrong with his memory” Beatrice smiled fondly, “but his belief in himself needs a bit of work.”

Her face turned grim.

“Now, the  _ roses _ .” she said empathically. Kallian paled and swallowed hard.

“Right. The roses.”

 

* * *

 

Zevran was waiting on the curb as Alistair pulled up, and in his blue coat and worn dark trousers he reminded Alistair of a child with the world on his shoulders. This was an association he did often, but he had never said anything. He liked his balls where they were, thank you very much. Therefore he made no comment on the fact that Zevran’s hair was wet when he climbed into the passenger seat. Alistair just flashed a quick smile and started the engine.

“Forgot breakfast?” He asked teasingly as Zevran pulled an apple from his pocket.

“No time” Zevran replied smirking and bit into the crisp fruit. That was the end of the conversation and they drove on in silence for a few minutes.

“If we’re going to see that witness, we’re driving in the wrong direction” Zevran said as he threw the remains of the apple core onto the floor to Alistair’s displeasure.

“I know, but I want to check on Anders. I still can’t quite believe this is happening.”

“Well,” Zevran wiped his fingers on his trousers and pulled out his phone, “that makes two of us.”

"Thought Bela didn't like it when you skip breakfast" Alistair couldn't help but say as he pulled the car into the hospital parking lot.

"Ze doesn't usually. But ze was a bit distracted." 

"So that's what they call it these days." Alistair laughed softly, then became serious. "want to split up or go together?"

"Best we go together, I think. First impressions." 

"Fair enough. Let's go track down the nurse responsible for him and then talk to Anders."

"Sounds like a plan. after that, family I think. We still haven't seen the other sister. She might be able to shed some light. Oh, and that boy from last night, the one who called it in." Zevran had a good point. then again, the eldest Hawkes might be estranged - but Alistair fervently hoped not. If Anna and Caelan Hawke were anything like his wife and sibling-in-law, she probably sat on a well of information. 

They managed to catch a rather exhausted-looking nurse Derington in the staff canteen, and over what looked like some very unhappy eggs and extremely underfed bacon she told them what little she knew.

“The first healing went well, and we have taken multiple x-rays of his skull. He’s in a magical coma to accelerate the healing. Uhm… the healer’s put a drain in, fluid keeps building up in the skull base. But his heart is strong, and we see no reason why he shouldn’t survive.”

There was a moment of silence as Alistair scribbled in his notebook. Then the nurse raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow.

"Unicorns, really?" Alistair felt his cheeks heat in an embarrassed blush. 

"It was on sale." He murmured.

 

* * *

 

As they searched the Intense Healing Ward, Zevran nearly collided with a human woman who was about as tall as Alistair. The majority of her face was hidden in a handkerchief, and they could clearly see her shoulders shaking. She had a long, thick braid of blond hair hanging over one shoulder and Alistair wondered, somewhat irrelevantly, if it was a modern style. Beatrice wore her hair like that sometimes. 

"Sorry" she hiccuped and looked up, giving Alistair a good look at her face.

It was a ruin.

The entire left side of her face was a twisted mess of blackened skin and burnt flesh, the bright blue eye in the middle of the mess horrifyingly perfect. Her left arm was tied over her chest with a beaded scarf, the same colour as her green dress.

"Quite all right, miss-?" Zevran helped her regain her balance, the smile on his face more kind than salacious. 

"Mrs. Hawke. Anna Hawke. We took my name." her voice was decidedly croaky, and Alistair looked around for some sort of water dispenser. She must be thirsty from all her crying; the non-scarred part of her face was blotchy and tears kept leaking from the right eye. The left one, though, was dry and cool. Seeing where his gaze was going, Anna Hawke murmured

"It's glass." Ah. that would explain it.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't stare." Alistair felt ashamed; he was a guardsman, for maker's sake. Hadn't he seen a lot worse than a burned woman?

"It's okay" she said in the same tone as before, "I'm used to it." Somehow he highly doubted that. People staring at you like they wondered what planet you were from wasn't something you ever got used to, in his experience. Especially for Anna Hawke, who had been a true beauty before the fire that nearly killed her. 

"You must have just seen your brother?" Zevran asked as he escorted Anna over to one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs the hospital insisted on putting anywhere there was room (and some places there weren't).

Anna nodded.

"Yes. It was... oh maker, it was terrible. You can't even see his face with all the bandages." She started sobbing again, and from somewhere in his coat Zevran produced a dry handkerchief to replace the soaked one she was pressing to her face. Anna took it with obvious gratitude.

"Who are you?" She asked when she'd calmed down somewhat.

"I am Zevran Arainai, with the Denerim Guard. This is my partner, Alistair Theirin. We're investigating your brother's case." 

"Please, Mrs Hawke" Alistair said as he pulled out his notebook and a pen. "We understand that this is a terrible time for you, but we need to ask you a few questions."

"Oh" Anna wiped at her eye again, her lips trembling. "of course. Anything." 

"How would you describe Caelan to someone who has never met him?" Alistair began, wanting the easy ones done first. Anna didn't seem to have heard him, staring intently at his face.

"Alistair, Sorry” she finally said, “I didn’t recognise you. How’s Beatrice?”

“Calm as a cucumber, at least when I’m at home. But I think she’s getting really, really bored. The healers have her on bedrest.”

Anna laughed, but it sounded more like a sob.

“As if she’d listen.” Alistair couldn’t help but smile. Of course Beatrice hadn’t listened. 

"I'm glad it's you working on Caelan's... case. You’re a good man. I'll help in any way I can."

"The best way for you to help, Mrs Hawke," Zevran cut in. He had vanished for a few moments, but was now back with a mug of coffee he offered to Anna. "Is to answer our questions as well as you can."

"Thanks" she said distractedly, put the handkerchief down on her lap and accepted the mug.

Alistair repeated his previous question, and Anna frowned in thought.

"Kind" she finally said. "Generous. Funny. Bit of a temper."

"Bit of a temper?" Alistair prompted. Anna made a face.

"yeah, he... he can be very protective. and he... when he gets mad, he tends to... mum calls it 'talking with fists'."

Alistair made a non-committal sound and wrote 'tends to get into fights' in his notebook.

"Has he gotten in any fights lately?" Anna’s eyes flickered, suddenly unable to look at him.

"Just the usual. He works nights at the Hanged Man. He's a bartender. It's a rowdy crowd most nights." That was an understatement. The Hanged Man was the most infamous place in Denerim. Basically, if you wanted a fight you went to the Man. 

"Anyone specific that comes to mind?" Zevran asked carefully.

"Uhm... he threw out a guy a few nights ago. It’s really Ashaad’s job but- the guy stood outside screaming he was going to kill Kee - I mean Caelan - until the cops showed up." She made a noise of pure horror. "Oh maker" she gasped, "what if he came back and-"

Zevran put a comforting arm around her shoulders. 

"Mrs Hawke, please try to stay calm" Alistair said, "we don't know that yet. And your brother is getting the best care possible. Do you happen to know the name of this man?"

"No, sorry. Ask Varric. Or Sera. Varric's the owner. Sera's a waitress." 

"Can you think of anyone who would want to hurt your brother, Mrs Hawke?" Alistair asked as he took down the names.

"No, people like him. He's... he's really charming, you know? People like him whether they want to or not." It was a strange way to phrase things, that last bit. But Alistair and Zevran looked briefly at each other; they'd have to wait. Anna Hawke was not in any condition to tell them anything else. 

"Thank you for your time, Mrs Hawke" Zevran said. "May my partner please have your contact information, so we can contact you later for more questions?"

"Yes, yes of course" Anna seemed a bit startled. "Don't you need to ask anything else?"

"Not at this point in time. Thank you, you have been very helpful."

They got Anna Hawke into a taxi home, and then went to see Anders.

 

* * *

 

They found Anders in a small meeting room, and the first impression Alistair got was that he looked like one of those white tigers in the zoo. Pale as a sheet and brimming with barely restrained fury.

“Fucking bastards!” He snarled the moment the guards came in. He took a few steps towards them, then made a helpless gesture and went right back to his pacing. 

“Yes, I am” Zevran said in a teasing tone, “what’s that to do with anything?” 

Anders spun on his heel, so that he was once more facing them. He looked wild, like he was about to come at them conjuring fire and brimstone.

“My Caelan!” he nigh- on bellowed. “Maker, when I find who did this-”

The air crackled with electricity.

“Calm down!” Alistair barked, “I don’t want to arrest you for unlawful magic!” he might personally think that the ban of any and all magic that wasn’t healing was unfair, but he didn’t write law books.

There were a few tense moments, but Anders slowly seemed to get his temper under control. Alistair and Zevran waited, ready to fight or run if the healer lost control of the power flickering in his hazel eyes, but eventually the fury there seemed to temper off.

“Alright” Alistair said eventually, “now can we have a grown up conversation?”

Anders made a face.

“I’m sorry” he said, grudgingly, “I’m behaving like a right arse.”

“Which is fully understandable” Zevran said, “but not helping in the slightest.”

“No- I- you’re right. I just-” Anders clenched his fists, his expression changing to hopelessness as he leaned back against the examination table.

“Six hours” he said in a hollow voice, “and I still don’t know how much damage. Oh Maker, he-” he ran a hand over his face and Alistair tamped down the urge to hug him.

“I know we have shit timing” Alistair offered with a self-deprecating smile. He spoke slowly and carefully as if trying to calm an irate cobra. Which was a rather accurate description, according to his experience with upset mages. “But can you tell us anything about Cae- your patient?”

Anders didn’t seem to have heard him, staring at something far off in the distance. “My patient” he whispered, “ _ he’s my patient...” _

Alistair pulled out his notebook and repeated the question.

Anders’ face twitched, but then it was as if he had flipped a switch and the cool, professional healer took over.

“There was extensive intracranial bleeding, mostly focused on the back of the head. We expect damage to vision and balance, but cannot say to what extent until the swelling goes down. He is on a drain, and we have in a medical coma which he is expected to be brought out of in a few days. We will be able to tell you more by then.”

Alistair nodded, writing as quickly as he could. Anders fell back against the sofa cushions, trembling.

“I can’t believe I didn’t recognise him immediately. BUt there was so much blood. And I… I just saw a patient, I- oh maker, the blood-” Zevran put his hand back on Anders’ knee, patting it consolingly.

“I’m sorry” Anders whispered, “you must think I’m pathetic.”

“Of course not” Alistair soothed.

“Anders” Zevran’s voice had a gentleness to it that was usually only heard when he was talking to children, “if it was my sweet one I’d be where you are now. I can’t imagine living without zir.” 

“Please Anders” Alistair said again, “we need your help.”

Anders turned his head and his tear filled eyes met Alistair’s concerned gaze.

“What… what do you need to know?”

“Well, for starters: pretend that we have no idea here you were last night.” Anders nodded in understanding.

“I had dinner with my best friend Bela Tabris and zir family at six. After that, my friend Kallian and I went to the theatre to see that new medieval costume drama  _ the Chasind Girl. _ Kali won the tickets in some raffle. It was opening night. It was... About as bad as you think” he laughed softly. “But Kali liked it. I got home about… midnight, I think.”

“Do you live together, you and Caelan?” Zevran asked, just as careful as Alistair.

Anders nodded, rubbing his eyes to hold back the tears.

“Yeah. But he wasn’t home. I didn’t think about it… he was meeting his family for Thursday Dinner, then he was going to stop by work to help with deliveries. He has Thursdays off usually but there was some mix up and Varric asked if he could help out… I figured he’d be there when... When I woke up…” his lips quivered.

Wanting to distract the other man, Alistair asked,

“How did you guys meet? Bee never told me.”

Anders laughed. It was a brittle, shaky noise, but a laugh nonetheless.

“We… Mrs Hawke is a painter, you know? She had a vernissage. I’m not really into that scene, but… when Bethany invited me…”

“You know Bethany Hawke?” Zevran interrupted. Anders looked momentarily confused, but finally nodded in confirmation.

“Yeah… I work part time at the university and she was in my class… smart girl, always in the front seat. Asked a lot of questions. She asked me if I'd like to go and I figured I’d been spending most of my nights in front of the TV with Pounce anyway so...” Alistair wondered, as Zevran asked about Pounce, if Bethany had had ulterior motives. Alistair might be strictly for the ladies, but he had eyes in his head. Anders was a very attractive man.

“Pounce? He’s my cat. Oh shit, who’s looking after Pounce?” Distress had crept into Anders’ voice. 

“We’ll have someone go over right away.” Alistair soothed. “So you went to the vernissage?”

“Yeah…”

 

_ \---Flashback--- _

 

_ It was one of those fine Kingsway evenings when the air is just on the verge of becoming cold, and in the little gallery a crowd had already started forming. Anders ducked past a group of men and made his way over to where a middle-aged, prematurely grey woman stood, chatting with a younger brunette and a man that seemed to be slightly older than the first woman. _

_ “Leandra” he said by way of greeting, “congratulations to the showcase! You are brilliant, and the art is fantastic.” The middle-aged woman laughed, bright and twinkling, as she accepted his congratulations with good cheer. _

_ “Oh, Anders, you hopeless flatterer. Thank you!” She said, clearly delighted. Anders greeted her two companions, Malcolm and Bethany Hawke, and pointedly did not acknowledge the way Bethany was looking at him.  _

_ “You need to make your wife understand how great she is” he said instead, as he accepted a glass of bubbly from a passing waiter. Malcolm Hawke, whom he had been directing his comment to, smiled at Anders and signed a short ‘hello’ followed by ‘thank you’. Anders felt immensely grateful that Bethany had taught him a few phrases. Just then, a pretty blonde woman in a stunning blue dress sailed up to them, hugging Leandra. _

_ “Mum” she crowed, “guess what, you’ve just sold your first painting!” Then she seemed to realise that Anders was present and held out her hand for him to shake. _

_ “Anders, right? Bethany won’t stop talking about you.” _

_ “Anna!” Bethany hissed, turning beet red with embarrassment. _

_ “What did I say now, lil sis?” Anna teased.  _

_ “I sold a painting?” Leandra interrupted just as Anna was about to say something else. “Which one?”  _

_ “Oh, that” Anna’s already beaming smile intensified a bit more. “Anna at resquiat!” _ _ She cried, turning a few heads with the volume. _

_ “Anna at rest?” Anders asked, “which one is that?” Anna gestured with her glass towards a painting that hung at the other end of the room. It was an oil canvas, done in soft muted shades of orange and yellow. On it they saw a badly disfigured woman lying on her side, facing away from the camera. The lines of her body were relaxed and her golden hair tumbled freely over a white pillow. Anders admired the fine lines and details for a few moments, then turned his gaze back to the subject standing beside him. In her blue dress, Anna’s burned and twisted skin seemed to soften, as if the marks had been gently painted on instead of gouged into her flesh. The burned arm was wrapped in a fine blue silk shawl that had been tied around her waist in a way Bethany had said she did when it was sore. Anders sipped more of the excellent champagne and was about to ask something else, when a white-haired elf dressed all in black came up to them and put his arm around Anna’s waist. _

_ “Hey babe” he said and stole a kiss from her smiling lips. He had to stand up tall to reach, but even though she was so much taller than him she fit perfectly against his side.  _

_ “Fenris” Leandra said, and a chill tone had slipped into her voice. Anders had no idea what the story was, but Leandra’s distaste clearly slipped of Fenris like water off a duck’s back, as he ignored it and instead sneaked a sip from Anna’s glass. _

_ “You’re driving” she admonished.  _

_ “I know. But one sip doesn’t hurt. By the way, I might have done something you’ll not like.” _

_ “What did you do, shell out a bucketload of money on something frivolous?” Bethany teased, finally breaking her gaze away from Anders. _

_ “Yes.” Fenris replied gravelly. _

_ “What did you do, hon?” Anna asked as she leaned against him. _

_ “I bought a painting” Fenris said as if reluctant to tell. They all stared at him. _

_ “Anna et resquiat?” Malcolm said, incredulous. “you bought it?”  _

_ “I thought it’d look good in my office” Fenris said, suddenly finding his boots very interesting. _

_ “That simply won’t do” Anna protested as she kissed his cheek. “It must obviously hang in the living room.” _

 

 

 

_ The evening passed slowly; Anders was, admittedly, not a particularly artsy person and within twenty minutes he’d had two glasses of champagne and seen his fill of Leandra’s paintings. Besides, the champagne was going to his head. He headed over to Leandra to thank her for a lovely evening and make his excuses, but promptly forgot what he was about to say when he saw the Adonis standing beside her, laughing in a way that made his dark eyes sparkle. The man was tall and broad, his skin tanned in the way heavy labourers are, and he had dark shaggy hair. Anders found to his surprise that he wanted to know what the man’s short, neat beard felt rubbing against the inside if his thighs and blushed profusely, even without having said anything to the hunk. Just as he was about to fade away from the mortification at finding himself sporting an instant erection Leandra turned around and noticed him. _

_ “Anders! I was just looking for you. This is Caelan, my eldest.” Adonis held out a strong, callused hand for Anders to shake. His grip was firm and warm, and Anders felt his knees go weak. This was ridiculous, he hadn’t been this instantly excited since he was a teenager. And yet here he was, wanting nothing but to climb this… this Caelan like a particularly delicious tree. Caelan’s gaze was setting him aflame, those dark eyes eating him up as they roved over Anders’ body, lingering at his groin and thighs.  _

_ “Nice to meet you” Caelan said, and it wasn’t fair how his voice could sound like ‘hey sexy wanna get naked’ when he was just saying a general greeting phrase. _

_ “Uhm… hello” Anders managed to stammer, cheeks burning as his knees started to shake. He reluctantly tore his hand away from Caelan’s and tried to play it cool. _

_ “I… It’s very nice to meet you” he managed to stammer out without sounding too much like ‘I want to get on my knees and suck your cock right now, is that okay with you?’. He felt very proud of himself. Especially as Caelan’s dark gaze seemed to intensify, freezing him to the spot and setting him on fire at the same time. _

_ “Same” and his voice was a purr, his eyes raking over Anders’ body with blatant interest. Anders’ personal god must be laughing his ass of as all of Anders’ blood rushed from his head to pool in his groin, erection growing at an alarming rate even in the confined space of his favourite tight jeans.  _

_ “I- excuse me” he stammered, desperately, before practically fleeing for the men’s room. He splashed his face with cool water and tried to think of anything that would calm the want throbbing in his entire body - how to measure body temperature on a body having been submerged in water, for example. Except that just produced images of Caelan Hawke in skimpy bathing shorts, rising from the water like some ancient demigod. Anders groaned in a mix of trepidation and arousal, knees going weak.  _

_ That‘s when the door opened and the desire demon himself slipped in, making sure to check behind him. Then he slid up behind a trembling Anders, pressing close as if invited. _

_ “Hey” he breathed into Anders’ ear as his hands started to roam, “We haven’t met. But if you don’t stop looking at me like that, I’m going to get ideas.” _

_ Anders laughed, wild and breathless and excited. _

_ “Get ideas” he gasped, turning his head to the side to bare his neck. He was rewarded by Caelan raking his teeth over the sensitive skin as a calloused hand started to undo Anders’ zipper. _

_ \---End flashback--- _

 

“Been together since, huh?” Zevran smiled. Anders smiled back, a smile so full of love and happiness it made Alistair’s heart stutter a little.

“I guess I should feel sorry… he was engaged at the time… Merrill’s a sweet girl I suppose. But I’m not. He’s… I fell in love with him that night, I think. He’s… I’m supposed to spend my life with him.” A tear slipped unbidden down Anders’ cheek. “And some sick bastard has just tried to take him away from me.”

“Can you think of any sick bastards in particular?” Alistair asked just as the door opened to admit Bela Tabris.

 

Bela was a beautiful elf with high, elegant cheekbones, full lips and startlingly green eyes, hair falling about zir face like a curtain of crimson. Ze was dressed in the usual black dress trousers and a very pretty, feminine lavender blouse that molded perfectly over zir flat chest. Alistair found himself briefly distracted, wondering how many had tried to figure out if they were talking to a man or a woman when interacting with the elf this day. To be fair, he still had that problem sometimes. The distinct lack of what society deemed as masculine or feminine traits in the elf’s appearance only increased the confusion, he’d found. Also, as he’d learnt the hard way, referring to Bela as an  _ it  _ might help his brain, but it pissed off his wife to no end. But she’d been ten times more pissed when he’d accidentally referred to Bela as “her brother”, so… yeah. Best not spend any energy trying to figure that out and just roll with the punches and try to remember the correct pronouns.

“I’m sorry” Bela said politely as ze spotted the detectives, “I’ll wait outside.”

“No, please come in” Zevran said with a disgustingly adoring gaze at his partner, “We’re done for now anyways.”

“Let me repeat the question” Alistair interrupted. “Anders, can you think of anyone who’d want to hurt Caelan?”

Anders shook his head firmly. “No.”

“How about Karl?” Bela interjected.

“I haven’t seen Karl for four years” Anders replied, brows furrowing. “I don’t see-”

“He said if you ever left him he’d kill you.” Bela pointed out.

Anders looked unhappy.   
“He was high.”

“Anders, he was  _ always _ high.” 

“Who is this Karl?” Alistair interrupted, frustrated.

“Karl Thekla. Anders’ ex. Real piece of work” Bela’s lovely face twisted in a scowl. “And that’s putting it mildly.”

“He was a nice guy before…” Anders hung his head. “Before the lyrium.” Lyrium was a very popular party drug, giving the taker seemingly endless energy. It was also highly addictive, and had ruined more lives than Alistair wanted to think of.

“Alright” Alistair closed his notebook, “Thank you. Do try to rest, and we can come back later.” Alistair nodded politely at Bela and left the room, giving Zevran a moment to say… whatever... To Bela. In a few moments, Zevran joined him in the hallway.

“Karl” he said, thoughtfully. “Might be something there.”

“We’ll need to find him. But first I think we should talk to that boy. Then to the hanged man” Alistair replied.

“Sounds good. Drinks are on you.”

“What, again?”

“Drinks are always on you, my friend. You’re the lightweight.” With a friendly pat to Alistair's shoulder, Zevran sauntered towards the exit.

Alistair followed, grumbling.

Back in the room, Bela pulled Anders into his arms and held him close, offering silent comfort.

 

* * *

 

Senrion seemed even younger in the harsh light of day, without the dramatic makeup from the previous night. 

“I know you’ve been through an ordeal” Alistair said in his best Mr Nice Guy voice. It was the voice he used to make little old ladies tell him about the men they’d loved when they were young and everything else he could possibly want to know.

“Yes” Senrion whispered, lips trembling. “I couldn’t sleep. But Eiric looked after me.” Zevran raised an eyebrow at the young guardsman that sat next to Senrion on the couch. It was the same one that had escorted the boy home from the crime scene. The man blushed deeply, but didn’t move. 

“Can you tell us?” Alistair cajoled.

“I already did” the boy whispered.

“I know, but we need you to tell us again.”

“I… I was going to meet a few friends at the club - The Ivy, on Ostagar - so I thought I’d take the shortcut. Not many people use it since it’s really dark but I always do. Nothing bad ever happens.” He paled when he realised that the night before, something very bad had happened.

“Did you see anything but the victim?”

Senrion hesitated, clearly unsure about something.

“I’m not sure” he whispered, and Eiric laid his hand on the youth's high. It was more a comforting gesture than anything else, but it still spoke of a familiarity that made Zevan smirk.

“Please” Alistair said, “tell us anyway. It might be important.”

“I… I think I saw someone. In a bright coat. But it was only for a moment and then I saw… the blood. Oh maker, the blood.”

“A bright coat? You didn’t see the color?”

Senrion flashed an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry detectives. I’m color blind.”


	4. Chapter 4

>  
> 
> _ Everyone sings hallelujah  _
> 
> _ when my boy walks down the street  _
> 
> _ Life just kind of dances through ya  _
> 
> _ from your smile down to your feet _
> 
> __  - The Magnetic Fields, ‘when my boy walks down the street’ _ _

 

 

 

The Hanged Man lay in the prime location in Denerim City, where Ostagar Street and Highever Lane intersected. It was an old pub, some say older than the city, and throughout its long history it had had multiple owners. At the present, it was in the ownership of a dwarf named Varric Tethras. It was rare to see dwarves this far to the south - most of them preferred to stay in or around Orzammar - but Tethras was a well-known face in and about the town. In addition to running the most infamous pub in the country, he also wrote some very interesting novels called “Hard in Hightown”, which were marketed as crime fiction but had just enough smut in it to make everyone read them. Alistair had, too, and he had blushed more than he cared to admit over some of the racier scenes. 

Vbaric Tethras himself, as he stood on the doorstep, was of average dwarf size. In other words, he just barely reached Alistair's waist. He had a worn red velvet cloak that was open in the front, resulting in Zevran having a hard time to keep his eyes off the chest hair. He had a jovial smile and cheery nature, but the gaze he levelled on the detectives was very sharp. He also had a heavy gun strapped to his hip.

“I expect you have a license” was the first thing out of Alistair’s mouth.

“Naturally.” Varric patted the gun fondly like an old friend. “I’d never insult Bianca by making her illegal. Now, I take it you aren’t here for drinks. If you are, you’re going to have to come back in a few hours. Permit doesn’t kick in until five.”

“No, no drinks” Zevran said distractedly, still staring at Varric’s chest. “Detectives Arainai and Theirin, we need to ask a few questions.”

Varric sighed, but let them into the locale. It was much smaller than Alistair had expected, but Zevran moved as if he'd been there before. 

"Alright, what do you want to know."

"We need you to tell us about Caelan Hawke." At Alistair's opening, Varric's bored gaze turned sharp.

"Hawke's a good man. Whatever you've been told is nugshit. Has something happened? He never showed up last night, and that’s not like him."

"Did you hear there was a battery last night?"

"Yeah, some sucker got his brains bashed in." Apparently, the grim looks on Zevran's and Alistair's faces were enough for Varric to make the connection.

"Hawke" he groaned, "Ah hell kid, who did you piss off now?"

"He pissed people off?" Zevran asked while Alistair got his notebook and pen ready.

"Look he... Hawke's a goody two-shoes, alright? But he's got principles, and a bit of a temper. He'll break your nose if he thinks you're an ass."

"Anyone he thought was an ass lately?" Zevran quipped, and finally managed to tear his eyes away from Varric’s  _ magnificent _ chest hair.

"The usual. Drunk idiots who thought Sera was easy pickings. I keep telling him that we have Ashaad to break chairs over people's heads, but it doesn't stick."

"Do you have names?" Alistair asked.

"No, sorry. But your buddies down at the station should. We called the guards on them. I know Aveline Vallen, so she always makes sure to get your boys down here stat when I call."

Alistair wrote TALK TO AVELINE and underlined it twice.

"Anyone else?" 

"Not that I know of, no. But if you stick around for a bit, you can ask Ashaad and Sera. They'll show up within the next half hour or so. The big guy always gives her a ride in. I called them in early since… well, since Hawke didn’t show up."

 

* * *

 

As it turned out, Ashaad was not just a big guy by dwarven standards. The qunari stood at least two feet taller than Alistair and was about two and a half of Zevran width-wise. He had dark, coarse skin that spoke of a lot of time under the harsh sun of Par Vollen, and his heavy horns curled around his head like those of a very old, very battle-hardened ram. Next to him, the blond elf that had to be Sera looked like a strong breeze was going to knock her over.

"I get the qun" Alistair muttered out of the corner of his mouth, recognising the gleam in his partner's eyes.

"You never let me have any fun" Zevran muttered back, but sauntered over to Sera.

Alistair approached Ashaad at a slower pace, feeling a bit intimidated by the fact that the qunari had hands that probably could break him in half without making an effort.

"Detective Alistair Theirin" he introduced himself, "I need to speak to you about last night."

The large man nodded slowly, and led the way over to a corner of the pub.

"What's up, detective? Is it about that idiot that thought no meant yes and got handsy even after Sera emptied his drink over his head?"

"No, sorry. It's about Hawke." Something flickered in the qunari's stoic face.

"I saw the obstruction outside. He's not-"

"Not dead, no." Not yet, anyway. 

"Good. He's a good man.” was the short reply.

"I need to ask a few things about last night." Alistair said and turned to a new page in his notebook.  "But first I need your information."

"Ashaad, Cernunnos." the other male said and proceeded to rattle of his address, social security, civil status, and job without prompting. Alistair wondered how often he was questioned by guards.

"Where were you last night?" he asked once he had gotten everything down.

"Here. Until closing, at 11. Varric told me to go home since Hawke was going to help with the delivery and clean-up. I dropped Sera off on the way. She doesn't like me, but likes my bike."

"Bike?" 

"Motorbike. Need the license?"

"No, that won't be necessary. Where did you go after that?"

"Home. It was late."

"Can anyone confirm this?"

"Yes. My husband Cole and his boyfriend." Alistair looked up. He hadn't been expecting that.

"Your husband and his... boyfriend?" he asked for clarification. 

"That's right. Krem Aclassi, he's a nurse at Andraste's Grace. That’s Aclassi with a C. He’s tevene.”

"To check I got this straight - Krem, your husband's boyfriend, and your husband Cole was home. And you were all watching TV?"

"That's right. Cole Ashaad. He's a psychiatrist."

"Can I have his contact information please."

"I'll do you one better" the hulking qunari said as he pulled out his wallet, rifled through it and found a worn business card.

"Thanks" Alistair said as he pocketed it.

After having given the requested information, Ashaad stood to leave.

In the doorway, he turned to Alistair.

"You don't seem to be judging us. It's a nice change."

Before Alistair had managed to get his brain to come up with an answer, though, the other male was gone.

"As if it's any of my business what you do in the bedroom" he muttered as he picked up his cellphone to call Cole. His instincts told him that Ashaad had nothing to do with the attack, but the faster he could confirm the alibi the better.

 

* * *

 

"Well, that was a bust"  Zevran muttered crankily as he adjusted his seat belt.

"On the contrary," Alistair said, "we know two things. One; the victim was not supposed to be at the Man last night, so that rules out premeditation. Two: we can eliminate anyone working at the Hanged Man. Oh, and we have a new person of interest."

"Fenris Hawke? Don't rule out premeditation just yet. It might just be the timing that was unplanned."

"Fair enough." Alistair agreed and started the car. "What was your impression of Sera?"

"Grouchier than an egg-sick varghest. She didn't like me much. Then again, I don't think she likes anybody." Zevran snorted with laughter and pulled out his phone.

"Possibility?" 

"Doubt it. Bitchier than a starving dog, but she's all bitch, no fight. And not liking someone much isn't a motive." 

"it is for some people" Alistair quipped, but removed Sera from his mental list of possibles.

“Have to give her points for being observant, though.” he added after a few moments.

“In my experience” Zevran said, not looking up, “waitresses usually are.”

"What do you say, lunch or tracking down the ex?" at Zevran's blank look, he added “the female one.”

"Both. There's a decent café next door to her place of employment."

"Right" Alistair said, "give me the directions. I suggest we eat first, though." 

 

* * *

 

After a lunch consisting of surprisingly tasty sandwiches and unfortunately bland coffee, Alistair and Zevran headed into the next door flower shop to speak to Merrill. 

“Hello” Alistair said politely to the elderly elven woman making an arrangement of roses in a wide vase. “We are looking for Merrill Talas?”

“In the back” the woman said, not looking up from her work.

Merrill Talas was a young elf woman, mid-twenties if Alistair had to guess, with a nervous air and mousy brown hair. When they told her why they were there, she sank down on a nearby bag of soil and cried.

“My Caelan” she sobbed, “my Caelan, my Caelan, oh gods. My Caelan.”

Zevran and Alistair exchanged looks. That was an interesting turn of phrase. From what they knew, Caelan had left Merrill nearly eighteen months ago, the day after having met Anders at the vernissage. Eventually, Merrill calmed down enough to be coherent.

“I loved him” she sniffled, “we were going to get married and have children, such beautiful children. Then he… he just walked away. Said he... He had met  _ the one _ . But he was my one! I don’t understand!” She looked up at them with devastated eyes.

“How could he leave me?” she pleaded.

“We don’t always know why people do what they do” Alistair said carefully. He was  _ crap _ at talking to crying women. He always wanted to sit down and cry with them . 

“I was so mad” she sobbed, “so angry with him. How could he just… waltz off with someone else? I saw them around town. They looked so  _ happy _ . He was supposed to be happy with _ me _ !”

“Can you think of anyone who would want to hurt him?” Zevran asked carefully. Merrill shook her head vehemently, then thought about it.

“Sebastian” she finally said. “Sebastian Vael. He used to be engaged to Anna. I think he beat her.”

Alistair and Zevran looked at each other again. There was that name once more. Anna Hawke. And the name of a man Caelan had suspected to have hurt Anna Hawke. Exactly how protective of his sister was he?

 

* * *

 

At the Denerim city precinct, Alistair managed to find Aveline immediately. To be fair, she was waiting for them in the reception area. 

"I heard about Hawke" she said, not bothering with greetings. "It's awful. Have you talked to Anna?"

"You know Anna Hawke?" Aveline gave him a withering look.

"Only for ten years" she snarked. Then her face softened. "She got me through some rough times." Alistair couldn't help but think of Aveline's husband Wesley, who had been killed in the line of duty several years before. Actually, he had been Alistair's partner before he got moved to homicide. Wesley Vallen had been killed when attempting to stop a robbery, and it was tracking down and arresting his killers that had gotten Alistair catapulted into his current position. Some days he still wished with all his heart to be back on the beat, if he could just see Wesley smile again. 

Alistair was about to say something encouraging, he didn't know what, when Aveline added;

"You can take Vael off the list. He's a drunk bastard, has been since Anna finally told him to go fuck himself and said yes to Fenris' proposal, but his alibi is fool-proof."

"And this alibi is-?" Aveline rolled her eyes at him, then shook her head hard enough to make her sleek red bob shake.

"Me. I arrested him yesterday afternoon and he spent the night in the tank."

"Thanks, Aveline." 

"No problem. Let me know if there is anything else, I'll be at Anna's." With those words, she stalked out the door like a sergeant on her way to whip a group of unruly recruits into shape. Zevran watched her go, full of admiration.

"If Duncan ever retires, remind me to get on her good side" he said.

"Stop flirting with her and you're halfway there" Alistair said in as sagely manner as he could as they got into the elevator. 

"Can't help it. She's my type."

"Cis-female version of Bela?"

"Pretty much."

Alistair rolled his eyes at his partner.

"Keep your pants on, Arainai." He said fondly.

 

* * *

 

Alistair slammed the phone down and let loose a series of expletives that would have made Beatrice slap him if she'd heard.

"That bad?" Zevran didn't look away from the large whiteboard he was currently drawing lines on. 

"Some people are too nosy for their own good and completely oblivious where it counts!" Alistair snarled.

"I take it getting the third degree about your bloodline was the highlight of your day?"

"And no idea where her room-mate has been for the last twenty-four hours."

Zevran shrugged and wrote "AWOL" under the name Karl Thekla.

"Do you want the thankless task of finding him or do we put some poor rookie on it?"

"i thought we could dump it on Aveline" Alistair snarked, making Zevran laugh.

"I'd like to see you try to dump anything on Aveline." Well, he had a point. Few things in this world were scarier than a pissed off Aveline. 

They stood in silence for a few moments, looking at the board. Names of everyone that had cropped up so far were spaced out at regular intervals in some sort of pattern that only made sense to Zevran, and Alistair had the distinct impression that it was only a matter of time before the entire thing was going to be drowning in arrows. But that was how his partner rolled - Alistair freaked if he didn't have his notebook to make long complicated notes in, Zevran drew arrows. On  _ everything _ . "Who do you want  to talk to first?" Alistair finally asked, "Fenris or Kallian?"

"Fenris, I think. If he had an argument with Caelan mere hours before the attack, it'd be good if we could catch him before he gets his head on straight." Zevran drew a completely logical arrow from Anna Hawke to Fenris, and then a less logical one from Anna Hawke to Merrill Talas.

"Good point. Who drives?" Alistair pulled his coat back on.

"Me, I expect." Zevran replied as he put the marker back in its holder.

 

* * *

 

Fenris Hawke was elven and blond, but there ended all similarities between him and Zevran. Zevran's blondness was the warmth of the antivan sun, but Fenris was a frigid wind roaring around the northern pole. The horrifying scars curling over all parts of him that Alistair could see did not help matters in the slightest. In addition, the scars slid in under his clothes in a way that hinted at covering parts they could not see. His chipped, black-painted nails drummed an unending staccato against the worn dining table in the kitchen of the house he shared with Anna Hawke.  

"Yeah, Hawke and I had a disagreement. Why?"

"Witnesses say it involved fists." Zevran drawled, not hinting at the fact that so far they only had one witness and they weren't completely sure how reliable she was. Anna made a frustrated noise from where she stood by the counter, chopping some sort of vegetable Alistair could not identify from this angle.

"He struck first" Fenris muttered, petulant like a child. 

"Knowing you" Anna's voice was frigid, "he had good reason." 

"What the hell is that supposed to mean" Fenris snarled, his skinny hands curling into fists.

"Oh just that lately, you're a jerk on a good day" she snarked back, and Alistair wondered if he and Zevran were about to witness a domestic incident. "on bad days you're a-"

"Shut UP Anna!" Fenris bellowed, his fist connecting with the table. Anna's eyes were blue fire, but she stayed quiet.

"You're not doing yourself any favours" Alistair pointed out, not unkindly.

"Look, I was home all night last night. Watching TV. Had a couple of beers." Anna made a noise that could have been interpreted a multitude of ways, but said nothing. Fenris ignored her.

"Anna got home, when was it babe?"

"Ten. I got home at ten." She said, staring down at the cutting board as if it held all the answers in the world.  

"That's right. Then we stayed home all night. Together."

"Right" Anna echoed. "Together."

Alistair and Zevran looked at each other. It was clear they weren't getting anywhere with these two at this moment in time. 

"Right" Alistair said as he stood up, "thank you both for your time. We'll be in touch." Zevran said nothing, and together they left the house.

"He's lying" Alistair said the moment the car door closed behind him.

"Yes" Zevran said, turning the key in the ignition. "But about what?"

 

 

Back in the kitchen, the silence was so heavy you'd have needed a whole tribe of qunari to lift it. Fenris stared down at his clenched fists, wanting more than anything to beat the everliving shit out of something. Preferably fragile and breakable.

"Damn you." Anna finally hissed. "Damn you, you bastard."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Fenris glared at his wife. Didn't she know what he was going through?

Anna's voice was shrill as she slammed the knife down on the cutting board hard enough to cause the cheap plastic to crack.

"It means that it'd be a lot easier for me to help you lie to the guards investigating my brother's attack if I knew what it is you don't want them to know!"

"I did not attack him!" Fenris’ fist struck the table so hard it caused an inch-deep indentation. He panted harshly from the exertion.

"Then where were you?" Anna screamed, her voice cracking. There was silence. 

"Where were you?" She asked again, this time her voice barely more than a whisper.

Fenris turned his face away. Could not stand to see her cry.

"Where were you?" Anna sobbed. Fenris stood up from his chair, walked across the kitchen and put his arms around his wife. She struggled against him at first, but then sank into his embrace like she was shattering.  
“You swore you'd never lie to me” She said quietly. He said nothing, just hugged her harder. 

 

* * *

 

Anders sat very still on an uncomfortable chair, staring at Caelan’s face. He looked so still and peaceful, as if he was only sleeping. But the thick bandages covering his head and the thick brace holding his neck ruined the image. He had sat there for over an hour, but still couldn’t understand it. It made no sense whatsoever. How could the man who danced to bad pop songs in the kitchen and talked baby talk to their cat lie here now, still as if dead?

And he still might die. He had done all he could, and so had the rest of the staff. Now, all they could do was wait and monitor. As a healer, Anders had seen his fair share of the dead and dying. But it was impossible to accept that his Caelan might soon be one of them.

“Come back to me” he begged helplessly. “Please, love, come back to me.” 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Name changed from "the assault on caelan hawke".
> 
> we're back from hiatus!

> _ So let me do the dishes in our kitchen sink  _
> 
> _ Put you to bed when you've had too much to drink.  _
> 
> _ Oh I could be the one who grows old with you.  _
> 
> _ I wanna grow old with you. _
> 
> __           - Adam Sandler, "Grow old with you” _ _
> 
>  

* * *

 

Alistair stepped out of the elevator on the fifth floor of the Denerim City Precinct #6, or into the “murder pen” as it was fondly known as amongst the guards. He didn’t understand the need to give it such a name, but there were a lot of things that went straight over his head. Nevermind Beatrice calling him brilliant, Alistair was fully aware that he was a bit slow on the uptake. He always had been, which must have been why the arrest of his brother Cailan had come as a complete shock. The fact that Cailan was the serial killer known as the angel-maker had been an even bigger shock. 

Six years since the execution and Alistair still had days when he didn’t believe it. 

 

Aveline was at her desk, but she looked up and flashed a quick smile that didn’t reach her eyes as he walked past her towards his own desk.

“Duncan wants to see you and Zevran” she said in that infernal neutral tone she had when she knew she was delivering bad news. “And Isabela called. She’s found wood chips and white hair, if you find something to compare to. Full report is on its way.”

“Thanks” Alistair muttered as he put his carry-mug on his desk. Beatrice had given it to him when she had at last grown tired of him having two sips of his morning coffee before scrambling out the door. Now she handed him his coffee before sending him off with a kiss and “be safe honey”. There was still some coffee left in it, but he’d finish it later. And try to remember to rinse it out. Beatrice  _ hated _ when he brought it home unwashed.

 

Zevran was on his way towards him from somewhere deeper in the pen, reading a print-out. With some sort of supernatural skill he managed to navigate through the smattering of desks and morning-tired detectives without looking up once, and Alistair felt just a bit bitter. If he tried to walk and read at the same time he invariably tripped over his own feet before finishing the first sentence. 

“Morning” he said in that disgustingly cheery way he had when he hadn’t slept the previous night.

“Morning” Alistair replied, yawning. “Duncan-”

“Wants to see us. I know. I was waiting for you.” Zevran unceremoniously dumped the print-out on his desk and once more Alistair felt irrationally jealous at the casual beauty and grace of his partner. On his bad days, Zevran made him feel like a genlock right out of a children’s book.

 

He forgot all about it, however, as Captain Duncan Kinloch glared at him from over gold-rimmed glasses. The captain’s glasses had only been in service for about three months, but they looked right at home on his face. They also did absolutely nothing to soften his stern features. The neatly trimmed beard didn’t help, either.

“Theirin. Arainai. Close the door.” He ordered, and even though the captain was sitting down Alistair felt small. He closed the door.

 

“I expect you know why you’re here.” Duncan said after he had grown tired of seeing two grown men squirm like schoolboys before the headmaster. “The Hawke case.” 

He rested his elbows on the desk and interlocked his fingers in front of his face. This made his gaze intensify as his hands now covered most of his face.

“I have the chevalier breathing down my neck at the present, and I do not need him setting his vultures on me.” he was referring to the internal affairs division. “So if there is the slightest concern raised  _ from anyone _ that you two are the least bit prejudiced due to your connections to Anders, you are off the case faster than you can say ‘compromised’. Understood?”

Alistair nodded, too unnerved to speak. Zevran muttered something that sounded suitably contrite. 

Duncan gave them one last sharp look, then his face softened.

“I have told a lot of people that you two are my best men.” he told them, “don’t make me look stupid.”

Thus dismissed, Alistair and Zevran fled back to the safety of the murder pen.

 

* * *

 

Kallian Tabris (born Andras, according to the records), was the adopted sister of Beatrice and Bela, younger than the twins by several years. At the present, she looked like a twelve year old child where she sat curled up in the large armchair when in fact she was twenty-two. Alistair knew this because the previous summer he had been yelled at by his wife for being an hour late for Kallian’s birthday party. Kallian had long dark hair that fell around her face like a thin curtain, and her eyes seemed almost comically large in her face as she stared at the detectives. She wrapped her thin arms around her knees, as if trying to make herself even smaller. Perhaps she was trying to disappear into the worn, gaudy upholstery. 

“Do you know why we’re here, Kali?” Zevran asked carefully, not wanting to frighten the girl more than necessary. That was probably why he had chosen to call her by her nickname. 

Kallian shook her head no.

“We just want to talk to you about Caelan Hawke.” Kallian looked up from behind her hair, brown eyes anxious.

“I don't know anything.” she said quickly. Alistair wondered why she was so skittish; this wasn’t like Kali at all, he knew her as a strong, outspoken woman who refused to be intimidated by anyone. 

“We’re not saying you do” Alistair said placatingly as he pulled out his notebook and turned to a fresh page.

“But we have to talk to everyone. And you’ll make it a lot easier for us if you give us as much information you can and answer all our questions, okay?” Kallian nodded slowly in confirmation.

“Okay. What do you want to know?” Her voice was nearly back to it’s strong, confident normal. But not quite. And she had not yet unwound her arms. 

“Where were you on the night Caelan was attacked?” Alistair began, having quickly jotted down the time, place, and people involved in the conversation. It wasn’t a real questioning, not yet. They were just getting a feel for if she was involved.

“You know that!” She protested, “I was with you!”

“Please” Zevran interjected, “we have to do this by the book. Tell us about Thursday night.”

Kallian swallowed hard, then it was as if she manually pulled herself together and began:   
“I finished work at five, Vivienne - my boss - asked if I could stay a bit, we have a big presentation due soon and she wanted to check in with me. I got to your house - I mean my sister Beatrice’s house - at around five thirty. We had a nice dinner - fish soup and chocolate cake, we were celebrating that Anders is going to propose to Caelan.”

She stopped as her eyes filled with tears, and Zevran took the chance to interject a question.

“When did you leave for the theatre?”

“Uhm- the show started at eight, so- seven thirty? I think? Anders was- he was really happy, he told me that he’d-” she sniffled as tears filled her dark eyes. “He’d found the perfect ring at the jewellers and made a down payment, I- I was so happy, I made him promise I’ll be a bridesmaid. Do you have bridesmaids when there isn’t a bride?”

“No idea” Zevran said with a shrug. “I’m sure you can be one anyway.” A ghost of a smile flashed over her face.

“So you went to the show” Alistair said, “did anyone see you at the theatre?”

“I don’t know, but I still have my ticket, it’s cut. I was going to put it in my bujo. I can go fetch it?”

“That won’t be necessary. What time did it end?”

“Oh, i’m not sure, sorry, I wasn’t looking at the time. It was late though, and getting chilly. So we hurried back to the car. I drove Anders home, and I dropped him off at eleven exactly.”

“How do you know this?” Zevran wanted to know.

“Because the eleven o’clock news just came on when-” she stopped, paled, bit her lip.

“Please go on, Kallian.”

“I- I saw Karl. On the street. Looking at- looking at the house.”

“This is Karl Thekla? Anders’ previous partner?”

Kallian’s pale face momentarily twisted into a grimace of disgust.

“Abusive asshole.” she spat. “I promised Anders-” she cut herself off abruptly, clenching her jaw as if trying to hold something in.

“Did anything happen after that?” Zevran asked, and Alistair wondered if he too sensed that there was something there she didn’t want to say.

Kallian shook her head firmly.

“I drove home and went straight to bed. I’d promised I’d come over early and help Beatrice with her roses and needed the sleep.”

And with that, there wasn’t much more to it. Alistair thanked Kallian, said they’d see themselves out and left with Zevran in tow.

 

Kallian was left alone in the armchair, staring at something only she could see. 

“The roses” she whispered to herself, “Mythal help me,  _ the roses. _ ”

 

* * *

 

Alistair sighed deeply as Zevran started the car.

“She knows something” he said.

“Yes, but if her alibi checks out she’s in the clear. And what’s her motive, anyway?”

“Damned if I know. But I remember why I recognized that name now, Karl Thekla.”

“Oh?” Zevran momentarily took his eyes off the road and gave Alistair a curious look.

“Yeah, I arrested him. What is it, seven, eight years ago? Domestic charges. The asshole didn’t take kindly to Anders dumping him and threw him through a glass door without bothering to open it first. There was blood  _ everywhere.  _ Anders was in a medical coma for three days while they dug all the shards out of his head.”

“So Karl being seen on the street outside Anders’ apartment would be a bad thing” Zevran mused as he made a rude gesture to a man driving past them at too high a speed and nearly clipping his rear view mirror.  “Do we chase that asshole down?”   
“Nah, leave it to traffic. There’s a roadblock two streets over. They’ll give him a nice big fine and take his license.”

“Fair enough. Lunch?” 

“Sounds good. Let’s go to that place we went to yesterday, by the flower shop.”

“I take it you have a plan with that?”

“Yes. I want to know where little miss Merrill was Thursday night.”

“You don’t think-?”

“You know what they say. Hell hath no fury.”

“Alright. Your treat.”

“What,  _ again? _ ” 

Zevran just laughed at him.

 

* * *

 

”Is this the right place?” Alistair turned to Zevran with a frustrated scowl.

“Yes, number fifteen. She’s clearly not at home.”

Alistair pushed down an urge to kick in the door. That sort of behaviour tended to make internal affairs ask uncomfortable questions about warrants and probable cause. Besides, there were already far too many people thinking him a loose canon who’d prove himself a Theirin any day now and either murder someone or shoot himself. Or both. He rang the doorbell once more, then cursed a blue streak when there still was no response.

“Merrill’s at the grocery store” a male voice said and nearly made Alistair jump out of his skin. “She helps me with errands when she can. May I help you gentlemen?” 

The voice, as it turned out, belonged to an elven male with rough, dark skin and piercing blue eyes. He introduced himself as Aerwedh Mahariel and in the same breath invited the detectives for tea in a tone that brokered no argument.

 

Alistair and Zevran exchanged a look as they followed Aerwedh into his apartment, but said nothing as they found themselves seated by a small, rickety kitchen table and being served tea in chipped cups. 

“Merrill was here” he told them as they asked about the night of Caelan Hawke’s attack. “She spends most nights here. Guilt is a funny thing.”

“Guilt?” Zevran wanted to know as he helped himself to the chocolate wafers. He had never been able to resist sweets, and now was no exception. 

“Mm, she drove drunk once. Exactly once. But as you know, detectives, once is all it takes.” Aerwedh replied sardonically as he stirred a spoonful of honey into his tea. “Hit a tree and totalled the car. Walked away scot free. Tamlen was the one who suffered.”

“Tamlen?”

“My husband. Didn’t have a bruise on him but his brain- well. No surgery in the world can fix that.” He looked up, blue eyes hard as ice. “They expected me to leave him, you know. As if I would. I promised him in weakness and health. I keep my promises, detective.”

Alistair sat frozen in horror as the picture in his head cleared. And he froze even more as Aerwedh disappeared into the apartment and came back a short while later pushing a wheelchair. In the chair sat an elven man with sandy blond hair, dressed in tan slacks and a white shirt. The only thing that showed any hint at life were his eyes, which were bright and sharp and stared directly at them.

“Is he-” Alistair managed, regretting it instantly.

“It’s called locked in syndrome.” Aerwedh smiled bitterly as he rested his cheek against Tamlen’s hair. “We’d been married exactly six hours.”

 

* * *

 

The car door had barely closed behind him before Alistair had his phone in his hand, pressing speed dial one with shaking hands. He had to hear her voice, her beautiful voice. 

“Hello?” Beatrice asked, “Ali?” Alistair tried to answer, but he thought of the elves he’d just met and found himself crying too hard to get out anything past “Bee-”. 

After the worst of the sobs had subsided, Beatrice asked gently;

“Is there anything I can do to help, honey?”

“No” Alistair forced himself to stop sniffling like a little boy, but when he closed his eyes to wipe them he saw his Beatrice lying in a puddle of blood, her sweet smile frozen forever. His breath hitched and he quickly opened his eyes, just in time to see Zevran wipe at his own eyes where he stood just outside the car. The blond elf had his own phone pressed to his ear, and it didn’t take much work to figure out who was on the other end.

“Maker, Bee, I met some people today…” 

“I know you can’t tell me any details” her voice was like warm water, embracing and covering him and making him feel as if nothing mattered but her. “But I’m here. Hey, how about I make you that pasta you like tonight? With extra cheese?”

“Yeah, yeah that’d be good. I’ll try to be home at six, okay love?”

“Okay, honey. Love you.” and like that, she was gone, and all his despair too. Like always, she’d left him with hope, and faith, and reassurance. He had no idea how she did it, but he sent a quick thanks to the Maker for letting him have her in his life all the same.

Zevran slumped in the driver’s seat looking like he’d just been run over by a bus.

“Fuck” he said eloquently. 

“Seconded” Alistair replied tiredly. “Onwards and upwards?”

“Yes. Unfortunately. The family?”

“Sounds good. Then home for the day, yeah? Bee’s making my favourite.”

“Small worlds. Bela’s making mine.” 

They exchanged wry smiles.

“What'll we ever do without them, huh?” Zevran offered.

“I pray that I never have to find out.”

“Pray for me too.”

 

* * *

 

It was early afternoon when Zevran parked the car outside the Hawke residence.

“So, how do we do this?” Alistair asked as he undid his safety belt, “together or do we split up?”

“Experience tells me we get more out of talking to them together.” Zevran said as he got out of the car.

“Hmm, point taken.” Alistair watched as Zevran strolled up the driveway with his usual easy charm, noting the tension in the shoulders and back that was the only hint at his partner not being as nonchalant as he appeared. He found himself quietly grateful for the act, however, as it grounded him in the present and forced all dark thoughts back into the deepest recesses of his mind. There was a lot of self-doubt there, and anger, and other things he’d really rather not examine too closely. 

 

Leandra Hawke stood in the doorway, nearly as pale as her dress, but she tried her best to smile at the detectives.

“Come in” she said, quietly. “Malcolm and Carver are home, too. I’ll get them”

“Thank you” Alistair said and realised that they’d made a mistake. They had no interpreter with them, and thus had to rely on Leandra when talking to the two men. But then again, what reason could she possibly have to lie?

 

If you wondered what Caelan would look like twenty years from now, all you needed to do was look at his father. Malcolm stood approximately 5’8, same height as his wife, and his face was a more weathered version of his son’s strong, handsome features. Alistair found himself reacting to his mere presence like a errant son wanting to please his father. It was more than a little disconcerting, and the feeling was not at all improved by Mr hawke’s silence. 

“Are you completely deaf?” Zevran asked, and Alistair felt relieved that he did not have to. It was a rather rude and invasive question, but they did not have a choice but to ask.

“Yes” Malcolm signed to his wife, who spoke. “I was born deaf, and so was our youngest boy, Carver.”

“What can you tell us about Thursday Night?” Alistair asked, watching the other man’s face closely. His thick eyebrows furrowed briefly in what Alistair assumed to be sorrow, then he answered with slow, clear gestures to his wife, whose voice was slightly unsteady as she spoke:

“It was a good night. We were happy, and Caelan had good news for us all. He’s going to ask Anders to marry him.” Leandra bit back a sob, and Malcolm signed something she didn’t interpret. “He left at about nine, saying he was needed at work. Anna left shortly after, wanting to get home to Fenris. I read a book, then went to bed at about eleven.”

“Thank you, Mr Hawke.” Alistair said, “Can you think of anyone who had any quarrel with Caelan, or would want to hurt him?”

Malcolm frowned at the question, and for a moment his eyes shone with tears. He shook his head firmly no, then seemed to hesitate.

“A few days before, Anna was very upset. Fenris and Caelan had fought. Over her, I think. But no. not something like this. Not Fenris.” 

Alistair frowned. They really need to talk to Fenris again. Preferably at the station. A quick glance at Zevran told him that his partner was thinking the same thing.

 

Carver Hawke was tall, broad shouldered, and had the sort of face that would be handsome if it filled in a little and stopped scowling. He was also clearly a cricket player; his walls were decorated with posters, and several medals hung in a little display case. One of those modern, expensive Nevarrite bats was propped up against the bookcase. Alistair shuddered at the thought of how much it must have cost; he had seen Kallian, who also played, sigh over it in a brochure.

“I was here all night” was all he seemed willing to say, but he couldn’t look Alistair in the eye which immediately put the detective on edge. 

“And can anyone confirm that?” he said, mostly because he could, and Carver’s scowl deepened.

“Why?” Leandra’s voice was soft, but the way Carver signed gave the distinct impression of anger and frustration. 

“Because I need to check your alibi. Or is there something you feel I need to know?” 

“Carver demonstratively turned his back to them.

“I’m sorry” Leandra looked ready to cry. “He has been like this since… since we heard- we were all home-” 

“It’s alright, Mrs Hawke” Zevran soothed. “You’re all in distress. Everyone reacts differently.”

“I suppose you want to speak to me now?” Lendra said as she led the detectives back downstairs, none of them noticing Carver slipping a piece of paper into Alistair’s pocket.

“Yes please” Alistair said, “If you feel you’re up to it.” 

 

Back in the living room, Malcolm held his wife’s hand comfortingly as they talked.

“Caelan is… headstrong” Leandra said slowly when asked to describe her son. “Impulsive. Hot-headed, at times.”    
“We understand he had a fight with Fenris?” Leandra’s mouth curled in disgust. 

“Yes. Fenris. He’s a drunk, did you know that? Sullied our Anna. She was engaged to a good man and threw it all away for a... “ she didn’t finish the sentence, but the way she looked at Zevran’s pointed ears said everything. “Stubborn, she is. Like her brother. Threw everything away for… for  _ sex _ .” 

Alistair felt a bit disconcerted; the vitriol he faced now was not at all what he had expected from her.

“And Caelan?” Zevran asked, his voice carefully neutral.

“He was a wild thing when he was young, very handsome and charming. Then he met Merrill… I thought he’d settle down.” Leandra made a helpless gesture. “It wasn’t what I wanted for him but… she seemed to calm him down a bit.”

Alistair drew more doodles in his notebook and tried to make sense of what he was hearing. There was something very important not being said, but he couldn’t figure it out.

“Can you tell me about when he met Anders?” he tried, hoping it’d make the waters less muddy.

“It was at my first vernissage.” Leandra lit up, “I sold six paintings that night! Bethany brought Anders, such a charming man, and a good job, too! They looked so good together. And then Caelan-” she made an odd noise Alistair couldn't interpret.

“Well, Caelan wanted him. And Anders… well, there’s never been a man able to resist Caelan when he turns on the charm. No woman either.” 

“Can you think of anyone who’d want to hurt Caelan?”   
“No. well, Fenris maybe. They had a fight.”

“Yes, we have been told. Thank you Mrs Hawke. We may come back.”

“Of course, detective. Anytime.”

 

Back in the car, neither Alistair nor Zevran noticed a piece of paper slipping from Alistair’s pocket and down between the seat and the door, coming to rest on the floor. 

 

* * *

 

Anna Hawke was wearing a very pretty red blouse that made her look ethereally beautiful as she let the detectives into her home and offered them coffee.

“No, thank you” Alistair declined politely, “we just want to talk.”   
They sat down around the worn kitchen table.

“Can you tell us a little about Caelan and Anders? How did they meet? What are they like together?”

“They’re…” Anna thought about it for a moment. “They  _ fit _ . So in love. So disgustingly happy. After they met, Caelan works cats into everything you know? Because Anders loves cats.”

“I’m sorry, works cats into-?”   
“He’s a carpenter. Really good, too. Makes custom furniture.” Alistair thought of his hallway table. He couldn’t remember where Beatrice had bought it, but she had said she bought it from the artist himself. 

“How did they meet?”

“At my mother’s vernissage. It was awkward - Caelan was engaged at the time, but he told me later that he took one look at Anders and  _ knew.  _ Isn’t that romantic?”

“Very. How did his fiancee take it?”

“I’m not sure, to be honest, Merrill and I never got along, she was more Bethany’s style. Poor Bethany.”

“Why do you say poor Bethany?”

“Anders was her teacher at the time, at college. Pre-med. Well, she had a mammoth crush on im. That’s why she invited him. My idea, I’m afraid. I didn’t count on Caelan. He’s always been… irresistible.” she smiled and shook her head in fond exasperation. “I told him once that if he wasn’t so crazy about Anders I’d worry about him stealing Fenris from me.” 

Alistair hummed, looking down at his notes.

“About Thursday night - you were all at your parent’s house?” Anna seemed a bit surprised at the sharp turn in questions, but she answered obediently.

“Yes, that’s right.” 

“But Fenris wasn’t.”

“No. he… he and mother don’t really get along.”   
“Can you tell us why?”

Anna made a face.

“She thinks he… sullied me, I think she calls it. I’ve given up on trying to make her understand that it was all me.”

“All you?”

“Yeah. All me.”

 

_ \---flashback: three years ago--- _

_ Anna smiled at the elderly woman who let her in. _

_ “Miss Hawke, please forgive me for not being able to stay and give you a proper tour-” _

_ “It’s alright, ma’am, I got an excellent tour last time.” Anna flashed her most winning smile at the other woman, trying not to show how nervous she was over what she was really there for.  _

_ “Please, call me Arianni. Have you set a date yet?” _

_ “Yes, Sebastian insists on the fifteenth of Bloomingtide.” she hadn’t wanted a Bloomingtide wedding, since she’d dreamt about an autumn wedding since she was little, but Sebastian had been… very convincing. _

 

_ “Bloomingtide? That’s soon, dear. But we’ll do everything we can to make your great day wonderful.”  _

_ “I’m sure you will. Thank you.” _

_ “Well, I must go. Fenris is around, if you have any questions he’ll do his best, I’m sure.” _

_ With that, the owner of the party venue hurried towards the exit in a flurry of gauzy red dress and elegant, short grey hair. Anna watched her go, wondering if she was making the mistake of her life. But for the past week, she had been unable to think of anything but the janitor she’d seen when she had toured the place with Sebastian.  _

 

_ It was with slightly shaky legs she walked into the grand ballroom, and there he was. Sweeping the floor in wide, almost flamboyant motions he was an elven god come to life, his black shirt making his skin glow like alabaster. He looked up, and his eyes were just as blue as she remembered them. She walked towards him, helplessly, and he let go of the mop. It clattered to the floor, but her brain didn’t register the sound. It was only aware of the sound of her heart pounding in her ears and the way his breath hitched and caught as he laid her down on the hardwood floor. And when he pushed into her, his mouth molten fire against hers as he came to rest between her legs, she knew she had made the right choice. _

 

_ \---end flashback--- _

 

Alistair looked down at his notes, cheeks burning. 

“So. Uhm. When did you get home?”

“I left mum and dad’s a little after ten, and it’s a ten minute drive, so… twenty past ten, I think?”

“And what did you do when you came home?”

“I turned on the TV and kicked off my shoes. Got my creams out.”

“Creams?” Alistair looked up. “Oh, for the arm?”

“Yeah.”

“And where was Fenris at this time?”

“I don’t know. Out somewhere.” All three of them froze at the same moment, realising what she’d just said. Anna, eyes wide with panic, hurriedly backtracked.

“I mean he was outside on the patio-”

“Anna.” Alistair said, quietly but firmly. “You’re not helping Caelan by lying to us. So, which was it. Was Fenris home or wasn’t he?” Anna’s lower lip trembled as she whispered, voice barely audible;

“He wasn’t home.” she started to cry. “Oh maker, he wasn’t home. I’m so sorry Kee.. I’m so sorry…”

Zevran looked at Alistair. Alistair looked back, solemn but resigned. He nodded once. Zevran nodded his head towards the window and Alistair immediately spotted what he had seen; Fenris was walking up the driveway. 

No words were needed as the two detectives got on the their feet and swiftly moved towards the door. Anna watched them go, teary and confused, but then she turned pale and she got to her feet and hurried after them.

 

Fenris saw them exit and stayed in his tracks, but he made no sign to resist. Instead, he quietly held out his hands for the cuffs and obediently went with them to the car as Alistair recited what he had dreaded to have to say all day: 

“Fenris Hawke, I am arresting you on suspicion of assaulting Caelan Hawke. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence-”

He was interrupted by an anguished cry from Anna, where she stood on the threshold.

“Tell them you didn’t do it! Fenris!  _ Tell them it wasn’t you!” _


	6. Chapter 6

> _ They say we're young and we don't know _
> 
> _ We won't find out until we grow _
> 
> _ Well I don't know if all that's true _
> 
> _ 'Cause you got me, and baby I got you _
> 
> __                       - Sonny and Cher, ‘I got you babe’ _ _

 

* * *

 

Alistair stared silently at the white-haired man on the other side of the table, but felt frustration boil inside. They had been staring at each other for a quarter of an hour now, but so far neither of them had spoken. 

Maric had taught him, when he was in his teens, how to play the waiting game and he had always struggled with it. He simply did not have the patience to be quiet until the suspect cracked.

“We just need the truth” Alistair finally said, when he felt as if he was ready to hurt the other man just to get a reaction.

Fenris only response was a stony glare.

Alistair scowled.

“We know you brawled in the street like a pair of thugs. We have  _ witnesses. _ But we’d really like you to tell us how you got from there to beating the man’s brains in. What was it, split second decision? Or did you plot it, down to the last detail?”

Fenris stared determinedly down at his fists. Zevran tried another angle.

“How do you think Anna feels right now? Knowing you’re in here? Knowing  _ why _ you’re in here?” 

Still, there was no reaction. Alistair felt his precarious grip on his temper slip even further and with a snarl, he stood up. 

“Interview terminated at 11:15” he growled in frustration. Zevran hurriedly turned off the recording.

It took all his willpower, but somehow Alistair managed to turn the urge to wrap his hands around the blasted elf’s throat and squeeze into storming out of the room. He felt like he was one piece of bad news away from a rampage.

Fenris stayed silent all the way back to his holding cell. As he sank down on the thin bunk, he allowed himself a single word, full of longing and despair. 

_ “Anna.” _

 

* * *

 

Longing and despair was also what Anders felt where he sat in one of the most uncomfortable chairs he had ever had the misfortune of sitting in. But it was the only chair he could find that allowed him to sit close enough to Caelan to see the rise and fall of his chest through all the wires he was connected to. He pressed a dry kiss to the limp hand he clutched in his own and choked back more damned tears. He had cried more or less constantly for days now, and he no longer knew if the tears were over his inability to help in the situation or the situation itself. He knew, logically, that there was no medical help he could give Caelan that wasn’t already being administered. He had no detective skills, and therefore could not help with the investigation. In short, he could either go back to work - impossible! - or remain where he was.

And Caelan lay, sleeping, pale as if he was already dead. It didn’t compute; how could a man so full of life be so still?

The useless tears stung Anders’ eyes, but he forced them back. He already had a headache from crying, and there was really no use in crying anymore. So instead, he leaned back momentarily, to provide his aching back with some relief. But the change in position forced him to let go of Caelan’s hand and he was momentarily so overcome with so much anxiety and fear he couldn’t breathe. So once more, he leaned forward so he could take Caelan’s hand. 

“Come back to me” he begged helplessly, “please, please come back to me.”

 

Anna Hawke entered the room slowly, not wanting to disturb Anders, but realised quickly that she might as well make one hell of a racket for all that he was aware of anything but her brother. 

She sank down on the chair on the other side of the bed, unable to tear her eyes away from her twin’s face. 

_ ‘He needs a shave’  _ she thought and immediately felt contrite at focusing at something as irrelevant as appearance when Caelan was fighting for his life. 

Or rather, the machines beeping, sighing, and whirring all around him fought. She thought of the words the doctor with the short dark hair had just told her and wondered how -or if- she should pass them to Anders. Maybe they’d make more sense to him than to her. Maybe they'd bring him more pain than her.  _ Minimal brain activity, _ the doctor had said. Basically, Caelan’s brain was so deep into the coma it barely kept his body functioning. The breathing had already failed twice, so they had him in some sort of machine that regulated it. But Anna didn’t know if it was the lungs or the brain that had failed, only that it was one of them and one was more serious. She didn’t know and she frankly didn’t care. All she cared about was that he wasn’t waking up. She needed him to wake up.

“Hey” Anders finally said, quietly, as if not wanting to disturb the one who couldn’t hear them.

“Hey” Anna felt her voice quiver as tears once more started making their way down her healthy cheek. 

“How’re things back home?”   
“Bad. They… they arrested Fenris last night.” She didn’t want to say the words, but they’d slipped out without her permission.

“No.” Anders shook his head, looking as exhausted as she felt. “Not Fenris. I don’t believe it.”

“Me neither. But he-” she sobbed. “He was… out. Somewhere. I don’t know where. He won’t tell anyone.” 

“I can’t believe it” Anders insisted. “I won’t.” 

 

They sat in silence for several moments, both staring at the man in the bed. Anders clutched at Caelan’s hand, pretending there was an answering grip even though there wasn't. He tried his damnedest not to think past the next breath, the next moment, because if he did he would fall deeper into his despair. To imagine life without Caelan in it was impossible, much as it was impossible to imagine there had ever been a time before him. A time without his deep, rich laughter or the twinkle in his dark eyes. A life without being awoken at dawn by eggs and bacon on a tray, followed by kisses and ‘you work too much’. The previous night he had slept on the couch, unable to face the bed that should be full of the warmth of his lover’s skin and the deep rumbling snores that Caelan swore vehemently that he did not utter. The bed that now lay cold and, for once, neatly made. He couldn’t breathe at the thought that maybe Caelan was never going to mess up the sheets again. Or insist on eating in bed. Or forget his tea mug in some idiotic place so the cat could knock it over. He had to wake up. He just had to. 

“He’s gonna come back. I know he is,” Anna insisted. 

 

Just then, the door opened to admit Merrill. She was dressed in a demure green gown that made her fair skin ghastly pale, but she managed a tremulous smile at Anna. Then her gaze fell on Anders, and the smile froze on her lips.

“You,” she hissed, like an angry viper. 

Anders looked up.

“Merrill, how lovely. Please leave.”

The elf woman’s smile melted away and became a frown. “I have  _ every _ right to be here. That’s my future husband in that bed.” 

Anders stood up so fast the chair skidded backwards. Caelan’s limp hand fell lifelessly back onto the bed and lay open, palm up.

“I beg your pardon?” He asked, incredulous. “He left you eighteen months ago!”

Merrill’s eyes were blue fire.

“He didn't leave me. You  _ seduced  _ him.”

“ _ I _ seduced  _ him _ ?” Anders couldn't believe his ears.

They stood facing each other like a pair of gladiators waiting for the signal to begin the fight. Anders towered over Merrill by a good foot, but in her indignation she gave the impression of being as tall as he was.

“You are fully aware- he was with  _ me! _ And you just-”

“Yes, I  _ what _ ?” Anders hissed, “Fell in love with him?”

“You spread yourself for him like- like a harlot before a client!” Her upper lip curled in disgust.

“Harlot?” Anders spluttered, “what- I- how dare you- you don't know-” 

 

But Merrill wasn’t having it.

“He is my one true love!” she cried, and Anders fists curled with the instinct of throttling her.

“True love? This isn’t a fairytale!”

Merrill’s voice, which had already been high with indignation became shrill.

“It is  _ my  _ fairy tale and Caelan and I-”

“There is no Caelan and you! He is in love with  _ me!”  _ Anders’ tone was almost goading, and Merrill took the bait.

“Love?” Merrill shrieked, her hands coming up in front of her. Her fingers were curled, like claws about to go for his eyes. “He put a ring on my finger! We were going to get married! You, you’re just- just _ entertainment _ !”

"Just enterta- WHAT?” He refused to believe what he’d just heard. “What in the Void is WRONG with you? I... I don't even know what to say to you. You have no, NO idea what we mean to each other!" he remembered dark eyes and a sleep-rough voice murmuring  _ maker’s breath, I love you _ in the late night, under the covers. 

“I don’t know?” she laughed, mirthlessly. “ I SAW you!”

 

_ \---flashback--- _

_ Merrill let herself in, feeling a small stab of guilt at using the key she still had not returned. Then again, Caelan hadn’t asked, now had he? She put the grocery bags down on the hallway floor and kicked of her shoes. Caelan was always nagging her about that, how he didn’t want her to mess up the hardwood floors he’d spent weeks restoring. There was a pair of shoes she didn't recognise already on the floor next to Caelan’s dirty sneakers, but she hadn’t seen him for two weeks so he’d probably bought new ones.  _

_ She brought the groceries into the kitchen and started unpacking them. She had spent the last of her money on this special meal, and she just knew that it was the ticket that would get Caelan back home where he belonged, with her. His favourite; beef with mixed vegetables and mushroom sauce. She hated cooking meat, but she’d make an exception for him this once. When he came back, he’d go vegetarian again like her.  _

_ She was just getting the frying pan when she heard a low, odd noise. _

_ “Caelan?” she cried, hating how her voice sounded nervous and reedy. No reply, just that sound again. Almost like- was that a moan? She put the pan on the counter and started moving towards the sound. She should recognise it, but she didn’t. It came from the bedroom, and though she didn’t want to know her feet ignored her resistance and led her there anyway.  _

_ She opened the door slowly, and it was as if a witch had turned her to stone in that moment. She stood frozen, helpless to watch. _

 

_ Because Caelan wasn’t alone; that blond bastard lay under him, his hands clutching at Caelan’s shoulders as if they had the right to touch him. It was he who had made the noise. That odd half-moan that came every time Caelan’s back moved. She couldn’t see everything, but she saw plenty for her horrified brain to make the connection. They were having sex. In the bed she had slept with Caelan. Caelan, who braced himself on his elbows, thrusting hard as Anders keened and moaned under him, his legs coming up to wrap around Caelan’s waist. But that wasn’t the part that made her start to cry where she stood. It was the way Caelan moaned his name, over and over again, like a mantra of adoration and passion as he made love to him. Like he used to make love to her. _

_ She didn’t want to see them. But she couldn’t move. _

 

_ \---end flashback--- _

 

“-like animals, it was sickening-” Merrill sneered, an image of righteous indignation.

“Listen to yourself, you-” Anders bit back a curse, snarled, “Got a good proper eyeful, didn’t you?”

“Believe me, that was the  _ last  _ thing i wanted to get an eyeful of! In my own home!”

“ _ Your home?   _ You didn’t live with him! I should know- I’d just moved in!”

“And how long did that take you, I wonder?”

Anders gave a bark of laughter and shook his head derisively.

“My relationship with Caelan has nothing to do with you!”

“It’s not a relationship! You’re just- just a  _ homewrecker _ !” that last word sounded like a verbal punch, as if she had laid all her anger in it.

“Homewrecker? After eighteen months? Maker I could just-”

 

“ENOUGH!” Anna’s howl made Anders and Merrill both freeze, like boxers waiting for the judge’s verdict. “Please just stop.” She begged, her voice hoarser than normal. “You’re standing by his sick bed. Please just- just don’t.”

Merrill turned her head, and for the first time since her arrival she actually looked at Caelan, acknowledged his presence. She clenched her jaw, struggling not to let her emotions get the best of her again. 

“I love him.” she pleaded to everyone and no one. 

“I know” Anna’s voice was kind, but determined. “But Anders is the one Caelan  _ chose _ , and you are going to have to accept that.”

“But I-”

“No, Merrill. You have to accept that what you had with Caelan has been over for almost two years. I think it’s best that you leave, now.”

Merrill, who had seemed to shrink in on herself with every word Anna said, turned and headed for the door. On the threshold, she stopped and delivered one last line, as if wanting one last chance to strike back at the woman who had just forced her to face a very painful truth:

“Speaking of rabid dogs, has Fenris confessed yet?”

Then she was gone, and Anna fell back into her chair like a puppet whose strings had just been cut. 

 

“I want Kee” she choked out, the very image of a heartbroken little girl. “I want Kee to wake up!”

Anders stared at her helplessly over the slow, steady beep-beep-beep of the machine regulating Caelan’s breathing.

“Me too” he whispered, “Me too.”

 

* * *

Alistair stared at the man in front of him, trying to determine if he was ready to talk to them yet. He had a sinking feeling he wasn’t, but the investigation was at a complete stand still at the present. Karl Thekla was now officially a missing person, and they had no other suspects. They  _ had _ to get Fenris to talk.

“Let’s go over this again” he said grimly. “Tell us about the night Caelan was attacked.”

Fenris scowled at him, but began.

“I finished work at four, then I went home. I stopped by the grocery store to pick up dinner cause it was Thursday and Anna was going to dinner at her parents’ house.”

“Why weren’t you going with her?”

“Because her mum doesn’t like me. She thinks I ruined her little girl because she dumped that jerk Vael when she met me.”

 

“And did you ruin Anna?” Zevran raised an elegant eyebrow.

“Vashante kaffas! NO! I love Anna!” Fenris’ fists clenched with helpless rage. “Talk to  _ him _ !  _ He _ beat her!”

“Sebastian Vael has an alibi,” Alistair replied calmly. “Turns out relieving himself against public property and then spending the night in jail is pretty foolproof. What did you buy?”

“What?”

“At the grocery store. What did you buy?”

“Uh… a TV-dinner, six pack of beer, why?”

Zevran ignored the question and fired off another one of his own:

“What time did you get home?”

“I- I don’t know, five I guess. I didn’t check.”

“And was Anna home?”

“Yes, she was getting ready to leave. Kissed me goodbye, then she was out the door.”

“And what did you do then?”

“I- I watched some TV.”

“What did you watch?”

“Nothing really, there wasn’t anything on.”

“When did Anna come home?”

“At... ten thirty or something.”

“And then you stayed home all night, with her?”

“Yes! Like I said!”

 

Zevran’s lazy gaze turned sharp.

“But you see Fenris,” he said, a deceptively gentle tone in his voice, “Anna says that when she came home at ten thirty you weren’t there. So who’s lying, she or you?”

Fenris clenched his jaw so hard it must have been painful, but he said nothing. His fists tightened where they lay on the table.

 

“Fenris,” Alistair tried another angle, “we’ve been told you have… anger issues, so to speak. Has that anger ever been directed at Anna?”

“I would  _ never  _ hurt Anna!”

“But Caelan thought you had.”

That was rewarded by another snarled curse.

 

The silence fell once more, and this time Alistair managed to wait until it was deafening. Zevran, who was used to this sort of thing, just watched their suspect without so much as a quirk of his eyebrow. Then something occurred to Alistair.  _ It’s in the little things _ Maric had told him once.  _ A liar never remembers the little things. _

“What did you have for dinner?” he asked, forcing his vice to sound neutral.

Fenris blinked in confusion.

“Vegetarian chili,” he said and Alistair had to force back a smirk.  _ Got you. _

“Freshly made?”

Fenris nodded slowly, clearly not understanding.

“See, here’s something I don’t understand,” Alistair drawled, “why would a man buy a premade TV dinner and then spend time making vegetarian chili?”

Fenris froze as all colour drained from his face.

 

* * *

 

When Alistair came home that evening he was very proud of himself for not face-planting in his dinner. He wasn’t particularly tired as such, but the mental and emotional fatigue that he had been battling since meeting Aerwedh and Tamlen had finally won. Instead, he moved his fork listlessly around the plate and let his exhausted mind wander where it wanted. It didn’t wander far; only to the woman who sat on the other side of the table and looked at him with a worried expression.

“Talk to me” she finally begged, when he didn’t seem to be able to focus long enough to actually eat. “What are you thinking of?”

 

Alistair forced himself back to the present and looked at his wife. Beatrice was, in his humble opinion, the most beautiful woman he had ever met and though he had been seeing her every day for the past ten years he was still surprised to wake up next to her in the morning. Maker, was it really ten years? Well, officially it had been eight but she had said no to his proposals before then.

_ “I’m not robbing the cradle”  _ she had laughed,  _ “come back when you’re legal, handsome!”  _ Alistair, seventeen at the time, had been devastated. Complete with crying himself to sleep and not wanting to live anymore. Because of course the gorgeous Beatrice, three years his senior, would be with someone else by then. But she hadn’t been. So when he asked her, on the day he turned eighteen, if she would marry him, she hadn’t laughed. She had smiled and said “buy me a ring, and ask me proper”. Six months of breaking his back at a construction site and trying to get through the academy later, and he’d put that gold ring on her finger. The ring that she now wore in a band around her neck, because her fingers were too swollen to keep it on.

“Alistair?” her gaze turned questioning, and he tried to get his brain to form words. Finally, he blurted out,

“Roses.”

“Roses?” Beatrice blinked in confusion.

“Yes. They’re beautiful this year.” And they were; she had picked some, and the vivid red and pink roses glowed in the candlelight where they stood in the crystal vase they’d been given for their wedding. 

“I got some really great fertilizer” she said in a teasing tone, as if she knew something he didn’t.   
“Oh?” he asked, not sure what to say. “Is it organic?”

“As organic as it gets” she replied as she refilled his wine glass. 

“As expensive as it gets, too, I expect?”

“Oh no, it won’t cost you a penny. Kallian got it for me.” there it was again, the ‘I know something you don’t’-look. 

“Do I want to know?” he asked, the same teasing tone as her voice had. Beatrice turned serious.

“No, honey. You don’t.” 

They finished their meal in silence, and he filled the sink to do the dishes. That was their deal; one cooked, the other washed up.

 

She came up behind him where he stood, up to his elbows in hot soapy water.

“I’m so lucky” she sighed contentedly. “To have you.” 

“I beg to differ” he said as he put the last plate in the dish rack. “I remember praying to the maker every night for eight months that you’d wait for me.”

He turned around so he could look at her and was immediately rewarded; her blue eyes were soft and shimmering in the light from the overhead lights.

“Every night?” She whispered.

“Some mornings, too.  _ Please don’t let this be the day she forgets me. _ ”

“As if I ever would. I knew when I saw you that first time. You’d just had a ‘talk' with that prissy man from the council and you looked so dejected.”

“And then you smiled at me and I nearly swallowed my tongue.” 

“You were dreadfully cute.” she teased, and he smiled. 

“I was horrifyingly awkward. And you were stunning. Couldn’t believe my ears when you said yes.” He looked at her again, everything he felt for her showing in his eyes. “Still can’t believe it, sometimes.”

She reached out and entwined her fingers with his.

“When I’m eighty and you’re seventy-seven” she said, “will you still look at me like that?”

“Yes” he breathed, lost in her eyes. 

Beatrice smiled as she stood up and pulled him with her.

“How about you prove it, and we can see if I can get you to work up an appetite at the same time?”

Alistair laughed, fatigue and frustration forgotten as he followed her up the stairs.

“Yes, dear.”

 

* * *

 

Night fell swiftly over Denerim, and for some it came as a welcomed blanket och comforting darkness. Alistair pressed closer to his wife, happy and sated. He wrapped his arms around her swollen middle and slept the sleep of the innocent, dreaming of two fair-haired children playing in a field of roses.

 

Beatrice laid awake, also thinking of roses. But her thoughts were darker, fear colouring them in shades of purple and solemn indigo. In the silence of the night she fancied she could hear the rustling of petals, whispering a dark secret. She prayed desperately that Alistair would never find out, and if he did, that he would find it in him to forgive her.

 

* * *

 

Andraste’s Grace was a large hospital, but as any other hospital it was understaffed. Therefore no one really paid attention to the woman as she walked into the intensive care unit. This was probably due to the fact that she walked as if she belonged there; back straight, determined footsteps. It helped that she was wearing the hospital uniform; dark pink scrubs with a name badge on her chest. The name badge was blank, but no one looked close enough to notice. She was just a nurse, going about her work. 

 

She walked briskly, but not too briskly as it would draw attention to her doings and she didn’t want to get caught. Not now, when this was so important. She didn’t want to do what she was there to do, but she saw no alternatives. Caelan Hawke was a good man, but he had to die. The good die young, after all. 

 

Stopping on the doorstep, she looked up and down the corridor to make sure no one was present to see her go into the room. But there was no one there. She opened the door slowly, suddenly unsure if he was alone or not - since the attack, there had been someone at Caelan’s bedside at all times. But she was in luck; he lay alone, sleeping peacefully. Or, he would have been sleeping peacefully if not for the machines beep-beep-beep-ing to keep him tethered to this world.

 

She closed the door behind her slowly, soundlessly, and pulled the syringe from her pocket. She wasn’t sure if the dose was enough, but she hoped it was. Since she did not have the clearance, it had been impossible for her to get to the larger bottle in the storage unit. She stood by his bedside now, looking at his peaceful face.

 

His strong face was sunken in, his cheeks hollow and gaunt. He looked so small where he lay, like a child, a thick bandage wrapped around his head and a heavy brace holding his neck immobile. His chin was paler than the rest of his face, and she wondered why they had shaved off the beard. The hair on his head she could understand, but why the beard?

 

She took his hand in his, and he squeezed it briefly. The connection made her falter, but then she thought of the reason she was here and her anger bubbled forth again.

“I wouldn’t have to do this if you had died” she whispered harshly as she turned his hand up. It was a strong, calloused hand; a workman’s hand, used to power tools. She pushed the needle of the syringe into the flesh below the thumb, emptying it slowly, hoping the effects would be delayed enough for her to get out of the room. It probably would have been easier to insert the substance into the IV bag, but she didn’t have time to wait for it to take effect.

 

Once the syringe was empty, she pulled to the needle and put it back into her pocket. Then she turned and hurriedly left the room. As she was about to close the door behind her, she heard the sound she had been waiting for. The respirator screamed its warning as the line that showed Caelan Hawke’s heartbeat went flat.


	7. Chapter 7

_If my time on earth were through_

_And he must face this world without me_

_Will the love I gave him in the past_

_Gonna be enough to last?_

 

  * __Ronan Keating, 'if tomorrow never comes'__



 

 

* * *

 

Fenris clearly hadn’t slept much; he had dark circles under his cool blue eyes and the red uniform of the Fereldan Prison system made him look like a badly scarred corpse in the harsh fluorescent light of the interrogation room. Alistair felt irrationally sorry for him, and had to tamper down the instinctive need to wrap him in soft fabric and make him hot chocolate. You couldn’t do that with suspected murderers. 

 

“Interrogation started at 8:15, detectives present are Zevran Arainai and Alistair Theirin” Zevran said as he started the recording and Alistair wondered if Fenris liked marshmallows.

_ Focus,  _ he ordered himself sternly, doing his best to sound like his father. Alistair opened his unicorn notebook and uncapped the black pen he’d nicked from Aveline, getting ready to start the questioning. 

“Tell us again about Thursday Night.” Alistair said.

Fenris gave him a half-hearted angry glare, but it was nowhere near as full of animosity as before. But the defiance was as strong as ever, clear in the way his jaw clenched before he began retelling. 

 

Alistair took careful notes, even though he knew there was a recording. He was used to taking notes; at the end of a case he always had at least one notebook full. Cyrion Tabris, his father-in-law, had told him once that he had a ‘kinetic memory’. The elf, who had a doctorate in language studies, had gone on explaining that it meant that his brain processed information via his hands. If it was important, Alistair needed to write it. Often he never needed to look at the notes again, but he still had to write. It sounded like complete balderdash to Alistair, but it worked grand so he didn’t question it. Besides, he was just a guardsman. He didn’t know about brain functions. 

Alistair waited until Fenris was done, before turning the interrogation in a different direction.

“Tell us about the fight you had with Caelan.”

Fenris was clearly confused for a moment; his brow furrowed and he licked his chafed lips as he thought.

“I… he was pissed about… I’d argued with Anna. I got real mad. I… threw a bottle at the wall. Some of the glass got on her.” He looked down at his hands.

“Was she hurt?” Zevran’s voice was deceptively neutral.

“NO!” Fenris’s denial was vehement. “I swear, I’d never hurt her!”

“But you threw a bottle at her” Alitair reminded him.

Fenris’ jaw -and hands- were clenched so hard they trembled, and he looked as if he was about to come at them swinging. 

“Who threw the first punch?” Zevran asked, leaning forward slightly.

“I-” Fenris swallowed hard. “I did.”

“Was it the first time you fought?”

Fenris shook his head slowly.

“Over Anna?” Zevran pressed on. 

Fenris looked at him blankly. 

“Was it the first time you fought over Anna?” Alistair clarified.

Fenris shook his head, slowly.

“But you have never laid a hand on Anna?” Zevran summarized.

Fenris shook his head again.

“Why should we believe you?” Alistair asked bluntly.

Fenris turned his face away.

 

* * *

 

The milk was clearly bad, but Alistair stirred his mug of tea without comment. The little white curds swirled as if they were dancing in the dark liquid. He pushed the mug aside and picked up his pen.

“What can you tell us about the night your brother was attacked?” He said, keeping his voice carefully neutral.

Bethany drank some of the tea, and Alistair wondered if she had noticed that the milk had curdled. 

“We had Thursday dinner, like always. It used to be Sunday when we were growing up but… Caelan always worked Sundays. Usually Anna did too. Before- before she got hurt.”

Alistair remembered that time; he hadn’t been on the scene, but there wasn’t a guardsman or firefighter that hadn’t know within hours that the most beautiful woman on the force had nearly lost her life, and definitely lost her looks.

“We had roast, dad made it. I made dessert. It was nice, it always is.”

“Did you talk about anything special?” 

“No… not really. Well, one thing. Caelan showed us a ring he’d made. Pecan pie, grandma's secret recipe. It was delicious, everyone said so. I made it.”

Alistair looked at his notebook.

“A ring?” He asked.

“It had a gorgeous stone in it, like amber but more brown. He said he searched for months to find one in the right shade.” Bethany smiled, but there was no joy in it.

“He’d carved runes into the wood, happiness and good fortune.”

Alistair still felt like he didn’t get the point.

“I don’t understand,” he admitted. 

 

Bethany frowned at him. “An engagement ring, detective. He was going to ask Anders to marry him.” Alistair thought of what Anders ha told them over dinner and smiled. Beatrice would love hearing that both men had planned to propose to each other. It’d be straight out of one of those romantic novels she liked to read. Then he remembered the feeling that Bethany wasn’t being honest with him.

“How did the family take it?” 

“We were happy of course, especially dad and Anna.” Bethany said, but once more there was that feeling that something in her voice rang false. He noted it down, hesitated, but let it go. He wasn't sure he’d heard it right and didn’t want to be wrong. And besides, what was he going to say?  _ ‘Would you prefer if he died?’ _ . In the end, he made no comment. 

 

“What do you think of Fenris?” he asked instead.

“Fenris?” Bethany asked, clearly surprised. “Well… he’s. I think he’s had a rough childhood. He’s… bitter. Hard. But he loves Anna. Worships her. When he doesn’t call her a devil.”

“A devil? That’s rather harsh. Why do you think he calls her that?”

“Well… uh…” Bethany started, eyes flickering anxiously around the room. “I only heard him say it once… he was drunk.”

“Would he hurt her, do you think? When he’s drunk.”

“No, never. He yells at her sometimes but she yells right back.” 

“Would he hurt Caelan? Deliberately?”

“I… I don’t know, detective. I don’t want to think so.”

Alistair closed his book and stood up.

“Thank you for your time, Bethany.” 

Bethany didn’t look at him, as if she didn’t dare to meet his gaze.

“Milk is off,” she said. “Sorry.”

 

* * *

 

Back in the car, Alistair saw that he had a missed call from an unknown number and hurried to call back.

“This is detective Theirin, someone has called me from this number” he said when a woman answered with a brusque ‘hello’.

“ _ Oh, detective Theirin. This is nurse Aclassi at Andraste’s Grace. I don’t know who called, but I know what they wanted.”  _ The voice was calm, with a soft tevene accent.

“How may I help you, nurse Aclassi?” Alistair replied as he dug out his notebook. 

_ “Caelan Hawke went hypoglycemic shock. It led to respiratory failure. We managed to resuscitate but we don’t know how much damage was done to his brain due to the oxygen deprivation.”  _ The entire sentence had been delivered in one go, and it took Alistair a few moments to make sense of what he had just heard. 

“Hypoglycemic shock?” He squeaked.   
_ “That’s when a diabetic’s blood sugar drops dangerously low.”  _ Aclassi explained, in a tone that Alistair almost thought wa amused.  _ “Which is very odd, we have him carefully monitored to prevent this. He is critical but stable. I’m sorry, I have to go. Is it possible for you to come by the hospital today? We might know more later.” _

“Of course. Is an hour acceptable?”

_ “That will be fine. Ask for me at the desk. Till then, detective.” _ Then there was a click and Alistair was left staring blankly at nothing for several moments. Zevran finally started the car, choosing to focus in the driving instead of asking anything.

Alistair gave him a quick, grateful smile and looked through his phone for his mother’s phone number. Fiona Theirin was, amongst other things, diabetic. Maybe she could shed some light.

 

Mrs Theirin sounded sleepy when she answered.

“Hey, mom. Sorry I woke you.”

_ “Alistair!” _ the joy in his mother’s voice was undeniable.  _ “That’s quite alright, dear, I was just napping. How are you?” _

“I’m fine, Beatrice sends her love.” Well, she would if she knew he was calling. “Mum, I need to ask you something. About your illness.”

Fiona gave a low, hacking laugh. 

_ “Which one of them, honey?”  _ Alistair flinched. Fiona had several chronic diseases, and he felt horrible for not visiting more often. Once his case was over, he was going to see her. A proper visit, maybe he could even talk Beatrice into staying over for a day or two.

_ “Alistair?” _ Fiona asked exasperated, and he blushed.

“Sorry. Uhm… the diabetes.”

_ “Oh. Go on.” _

“If I, hypothetically, wanted to make an unconscious man go into hypoglycemic shock, how would I go about it?”

He could hear her lungs struggling to breathe as she thought.

_ “If you inject him with insulin,”  _ she finally said,  _ “his blood sugar will drop. If the dose is large enough, he will have seizures and lose consciousness.”  _

“So if I inject insulin I cause diabetic shock and potential heart failure.” Alistair mused, writing down the information.

_ “I suppose, if the poor soul is weak enough. But why would you want to do something so terrible?” _

“Oh, not me, mum. It’s for a case. Why don’t you go back to your nap, and I’ll call later?”

_ “Okay. love you, dear.” _ _   
_ “Love you too.” he said, distracted, and hung up.

“Hypoglycemic shock” he told Zevran who looked like a study in confusion as he pulled into the parking lot of one of their favourite diners, “Caelan Hawke went into hypoglycemic shock and it led to heart failure. It can be triggered by injecting insulin.”

“You think someone injected him with… insulin, is that the name.” Zevran parked and got out of the car.

“Yes, I do” Alistair agreed as he followed him. “Someone with medical knowledge.”

 

* * *

 

“What did the mother say?” Alistair asked Zevran over his pan fried fish and potato wedges. They were seated at a corner booth, and since lunch time was almost over they were blessedly alone.

“Not much” Zevran replied as he sprinkled tabasco sauce over his chili with extra-extra chili peppers. “Caelan showed them a ring he’d made. Going to ask Anders to marry him.”

“Mm, Bethany told me. Was she happy for him?” Alistair asked as he reached for a napkin, trying not to shudder at the presumed heat of the dish his partner was cheerily tucking into.

“She said so” Zevran replied, mouth full of food. “I don’t believe her.”

Alistair stopped, fork mid-air.

“Why wouldn't she be happy her son is getting married?” 

“She said something about ‘going through with it this time’. I got the distinct impression she doesn’t approve of the choice of fiancee. Apparently, Merrill was devastated when he left her.”

“You think she’s sore over Caelan dumping Merrill like a hot potato to take up with Anders.”

“Quite. Or she just doesn’t like his choice in life partners. Apparently, a human man is worse than an elven woman.” Zevran’s tone was bitter, which was understandable. He’d lost his two best friends over his choice to marry Bela, because the other two elves couldn’t deal with Zevran loving someone who didn’t fit into their ideas of gender and sexuality. Or so Zevran had said. 

“What did she say about Fenris?”

“Oh, plenty. She does  _ not  _ like him. Apparently he’s… let me think… oh yes, a hotheaded slob with a drinking problem. He also can’t hold a job.”

“I thought he’d been employed at that deaf school downtown for three years.”

“He has. She was referring to the fact that he lost his previous job three days after meeting Anna.”

“We should talk to him about that.” 

“Mhm. And the drink. Pass the salt?” Alistair obediently handed it over.

“Haven’t you spiced that chili enough by now?”

“Needs more salt.”

 

* * *

 

At Andraste’s Grace, Alistair and Zevran only managed to get lost twice before they found the ward where Caelan Hawke was a patient. It was embarrassing, but they’d parked in the parking lot instead of the garage and all the signs were pointing in different directions. A handsome man in a nurse’s uniform was coming down the corridor when they entered, an Alistair stopped him.

“We’re looking for Krem Aclassi?”

The man smiled, the sort of warm smile that made you feel like you’d just stepped into the sun.

“That’s me. Detectives Theirin and-?” he looked questioningly at Zevran

“Arainai.”

“Detective Arainai. Pleasure. We can talk in here” he opened the door to an empty room. “The patient is in surgery” he explained when he saw the detective's questioning eyes.

“What can you tell us about what happened with Caelan Hawke?” Alistair pulled out his notebook and dug through his pockets for his pen. Krem held out one for him to use. “Thanks”

“First off, the hospital apologizes for not notifying you earlier. We’re understaffed and didn’t get confirmation until this morning. Caelan Hawke was injected with insulin that caused his blood sugar to drop to a dangerous level. This caused his body, which is already severely weakened, to shut down. He went into respiratory distress.” 

 

At Alistair’s blank look Krem added, “that means his lungs shut down and he was unable to breathe.” 

“I see. And then?”

“We managed to resuscitate and he is stable. We haven't managed to find an injection site, but the night nurse claims to have seen an unknown orderly shortly before the alarms.”

“And who was this orderly?” Krem shook his head.

“We don't know, a woman with dark hair. He reacted because the only woman on duty last night was Lavellan but he’d recognize her anywhere. His crush on the prettiest nurse at Grace is legendary.”

Zevran nodded thoughtfully.

“Thank you for this information, nurse Aclassi. Is there anything else you can tell us?”

“No, not really. If you ask in reception they’ll give you Rutherford’s phone number so you can talk to him.”

Once Krem had left them alone, they looked at each other.

“This was deliberate.” Alistair frowned. Zevran hummed in agreement.

“It doesn’t feel like the assault. That was rushed, this was…”

“Premeditated?”

“Yes. I think so. We should put a man on watch outside the door.”

* * *

 

It was early evening when Anders came home, the walk from the bus stop having taken three times longer than it usually did. It felt as if his shoes were full of lead, making each step heavier than the previous. He walked past several houses where he could see brightly lit kitchens with people making or having dinner, and it intensified his loneliness. Eventually, he stood in front of his own little suburban house that he shared with Caelan and their grouchy old cat Pounce. He rested his forehead against the door, feeling the curve of the fine lines in the etchings Caelan had made. He didn’t have to look at them to know what they depicted, so familiar was each groove and line to his heart. He did not want to open that door and be faced with Caelan not being home. He wanted to run back to the bus stop and take the next bus to town, straight back to Caelan.

 

But Anna had more or less had him thrown out of Caelan’s room at the hospital, he was in the best of care, and Anders had better not show his face there until tomorrow or  _ else, _ and he knew she was right. He really needed a shower and a shave, and some sleep would probably do him a world of good. Still, he resented her for it. He couldn't bear the thought of not being there for Caelan, even though he knew it was completely futile. Especially since he had just nearly lost him. Caelan’s recovery was in no way dependant on his presence, but it still hurt like a knife to the chest not to see his beautiful face, to hold his hand. Especially now, when he was at home where Caelan’s absence was everywhere. 

 

Finally, a loud yowl from the other side made him open the door and greet Pounce. The old tabby stood in the hallway, tail held high with agitation. He glared at Anders like he couldn't believe his human’s audacity to not be home and look after him, then turned and stalked away, towards the kitchen. Anders wondered, as he followed, who had cared for the cat these past few days when he’d practically lived at the hospital. Guilt stuck him like a punch to the gut, and he felt horrible. Poor Pounce, all alone at home not understanding why. What if no one had fed him, given him water? But as he came into the kitchen he saw that Pounce’s food bowl was full. There was a note on the table.  _ Fed the cat and got the mail. Call me.  _ Beneath there was a messy drawing of a bumblebee sitting on a flower. A slightly hysterical laugh bubbled up in his throat as he got out his phone and called Beatrice.

“Hey, it’s me” he said as he started wandering through the house, surveying the damage. He and Caelan weren’t slobs, but not neat-freaks either. Well, apart from Caelan’s workshop which was always perfectly tidy apart from the sawdust covering everything. But in the past week since Caelan… since Caelan, the apartment had turned into a hot mess. How that had been managed when he was barely at home, he had no idea. But there it was. The mess. He didn’t even know what the mess was composed of at this point, but from where he stood he could see at least one pizza box. He couldn’t remember when he’d ordered it. Or had it been from before? No clue.

_ “Anders, hey”  _ her voice sounded slightly off, but he chalked it up to the phone.  _ “How are you?” _

“That’s… I don’t know how to answer that.”

_ “I understand. Did you just come home?” _

“Yeah. I… just home.” He swallowed hard.

_ “You okay?”  _ Beatrice’s voice was clearly worried on the other end of the phone line. Anders rubbed his forehead and sighed deeply.

“Yeah, I just…” He drew a deep breath, forced himself not to start sniffling even though he was one piece of bad news from sitting on the floor and screaming. “I’m just…”

_ “Overwhelmed?”  _ That was it. Yes. He was completely overwhelmed, and didn’t know where to begin. He watched as Pounce chased after something he couldn’t see. Whatever it was clearly flew, as the cat was jumping and reaching out his front paws.

“I think I have flies.” He said, dumbly, realising she was waiting for a reply.

_ “Oh, honey.”  _ Beatrice sounded sad, like she wanted to cry too. He hated when she cried.

“I.. think I need help.” He said instead.

_ “Of course, honey. I’ll be over. Is tomorrow okay? I’ll bring Kali and Bela too. We’ll take care of everything.”  _ and suddenly the weight of her caring made his legs give out and he sank down to the floor, leaning back against the wall. 

_ “Is that okay? Anders?”  _ Her voice again.

“I’m sorry” he whispered, not sure what he was apologizing for.

_ “I know, but you don’t have to be. Is ten okay for you? Or do you want us to come later?” _

“No… no ten is... Fine. ten is fine.”   
_ “Okay. Do you have food? I thought I could cook for you, so you won’t have to worry for a while.”  _ that did it. Those infernal tears forced their way from his eyes and down his cheeks.

_ “Anders?” _

“Okay” he managed. “I- okay.”

Once he’d hung up he pulled his legs up, rested his head against his knees, and cried.

 

* * *

 

The evening was late, but Anna couldn’t sleep. She was used to having Fenris next to her, but that was only part of it. Whenever she closed her eyes, she saw her brother. Her beautiful Caelan, laying still and silent in a hospital bed. He who had never been still in his life apart from when he held a knife or chisel. She thought of how limp his hand had been when she’d held it, how wrong that stillness had been. After having finished her lonely dinner, she went into the living room where her spinning wheel stood. It was an ancient piece that used to belong to her great-grandmother. 

 

Anna remembered Imogen Amell fondly; she had been one of the few people who had seen Caelan and her as individuals and allowed them to be different. It was she who had taught Anna to spin, and the trick to make the yarn beautiful and soft and shiny. Anna had made good on her lessons after the fire that left her scarred, and now she made a tidy sum in selling the thread and yarn she spun from hair, both her own and that of her customers. Right now, she was working on an order from a guardsman’s wife who had given her hair from both herself and her siblings. It was a challenge to make, as the three givers had very different hair colours, but Anna fancied she’d found a nice wool to compliment both the dark brown, the wheat blond, and the rich auburn. She sat down on the little padded stool Caelan had made for her, and picked up a thick wad of wool from the basket. A few strands of hair in her healthy hand, the wool running through her ruined one, and soon the only sound heard was the soft  _ whoosh _ of the wheel. 

 

As she spun, Anna let her mind wander to her husband. Fenris temper was foul, but she couldn't fault him for that. He had told her about his childhood, and though it had been horrific she didn’t think he'd told her the worst parts. But she’d seen the scars; seen all the scars. Most of them she knew the story of. Like the mottled indentations on his lower back where his foster father had put out a whole packet of cigarettes. Anna had quit smoking the day after he told her that story. 

 

She wondered what Fenris was doing at this moment. Was he being interrogated, or was he resting? Was he thinking of her, like she was thinking of him? 

She wondered if he was guilty. If she could live with herself if he was.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I ask you to please read chapter 7 again before this, as there has been significant changes.
> 
> The murky waters are a bit clearer, but our assailant still hides in the shadows.

_ No need to be explicit, anyone can see _

_ Injury was permanent, the wound was really deep _

_ Doesn't talk about it much… I listen when he does _

_ And when he's in that distant place, _

_ I know it's just because. _

 

  * __John Hiatt, ‘Hurt My Baby’__



 

 

* * *

 

 

Alistair hadn’t even managed to sit down at his desk when the phone rang.

“Theirin?” He answered, trying not to yawn as he did. Beatrice had kept him awake late, wanting his...attention, so to speak. Not that he was complaining. He would be happy to pay that sort of attention to his wife every night for as long as he lived. If it made her happy.

“Detective Alistair Theirin? This is Lyssa Trevelyan, calling from Andraste’s Grace.”

Alistair sat up straight and dug around for a pen. This was  _ important. _

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Goodness, you make me sound ancient. My name is Lyssa. Or nurse Trevelyan.”

“Very well, nurse Trevelyan. How can I help you?”

“Oh, I just called to let you know that Caelan Hawke is showing signs of waking from his coma.” Alistair forgot the pen. This was great news - Hawke was going to live!

”We can’t say anything about the state of his brain” the nurse prattled on, “but we’ve informed the family. It was strange.”

“Strange, how?” Alistair groped after the pen, but it had rolled under some papers.

“Well, the mother… she didn’t sound pleased. Aren’t you supposed to be pleased when you find out that your child is going to live?”

“Maybe she was in shock” Alistair said, giving up on the pen and instead trying to memorize as much as possible of the conversation. 

“Maybe. Still, it was weird. Well, I have to go detective. Just wanted to inform you.”

“Thank you, nurse. Thank you so much” and then there was a click and Alistair was left to stare dumbly at his phone. There was something here, something important, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

 

Zevran waving a file in his face made him forget all about his suspicions.

“Isabela’s report” the elf announced cheerily. “Do you want to read it or shall I just give you the bullet points?” 

“Stop waving that thing like you’re trying to arouse a lazy bull and give me the important bits. Oh, by the way, that was the hospital. Hawke’s almost conscious.” Alistair said, feeling a headache coming on.

Zevran leered at him.

“I’ll arouse you anytime you want” he said, but it was more habit than anything else. “Hawke’s regaining consciousness, eh? Good, maybe he can provide some light.” Then he leaned against Alistair’s desk, flipped open the file and summarized the contents:

“One assailant due to lack of bunting, blows aiming at the head, defensive wounds on arms and hands. Assailant 5’4-5’9 based on direction of blows and blood spatter, left-handed, strands of white hair, splinters of whitewood.”

“Like a cricket bat?” Alistair asked, more to himself than Zevran.

They both fell silent, thinking the same thing.

 

Fenris was 5’7. And he had white hair.

 

* * *

 

Anders woke to the doorbell cutting into a horrible nightmare. He had been running as fast as he could, running from some sort of danger he couldn’t name but no matter how he ran he stayed in the same spot. He was soaked with sweat, trembling with the cold, and for a few moments he didn’t know where he was. Then he remembered. Caelan. Beatrice. Ten pm. He looked at the alarm clock at the bedside table: 10:04. The doorbell rang again, more insistent this time, and he stumbled from the bed and into the hallway. Pounce yowled at him and dove out of the way, but he ignored the cat and focused instead on opening the door.

 

Kallian, who had been abusing the doorbell, took one look at Anders’ disheveled appearance and put down the paper bag she had been holding. Thus freed, she threw her arms around him in the impulsive way she always had.

“Oh Ahn” she whispered into his shirt, using the nickname she’d given him when she was just a toddler. Then Bela pushed her away firmly.

“Hugs can wait until we get into the apartment, Kali.” Ze ordered gruffly, and stalked past with his long red braid dancing on zir back and arms full of bags. Beatrice came last, waddling slightly with her large belly, and her smile was like liquid sunshine as she gave him a hug. Well, half-hug. At this point in her pregnancy she was so big his arms didn’t reach around her anymore.

“Thank you” Anders murmured into her hair.

“What are little sisters for?” She teased gently.

 

Anders closed the door behind her, making sure it was locked. It was all he had time to do before it was Bela’s turn to hug him. 

“Sorry” the red-headed elf said into Anders’ shoulder, “the bags were heavy.” 

“It’s okay” Anders said as he hugged back, feeling comforted. It was always like that with Bela - ze had always been able to pick you up, no matter how hopeless you felt. A hug, a smile, a good-natured quip, Anders had no idea how ze did it. 

“Anders can help me in the kitchen” said Beatrice, who had always been the natural leader of their little troup. “You two deal with the apartment and the laundry.” 

“I can’t cook” Anders said, which wasn’t strictly true. He was amazing with a microwave and made the best sandwich you’d ever have. He also burnt water and regularly set of the fire alarm.

“Don’t need to be able to cook to peel a potato. Now go get dressed.” And that was the end of it.

 

Three hours later and Anders found himself tucking into a steaming portion of tuna casserole and creamed corn salad, sitting at his shining kitchen table, listening to the low hum of the washing machine in the bathroom. The three elves sat around him, also eating.

“So” Bela said between bites, “after lunch I’ll take Pounce to the groomer -I called and they can pencil us in- to fix his claws and trim him a bit.”

“Sounds good” Kali added, “I’m gonna hang the last load of laundry, -pass the corn, someone- then help Beatrice box up the rest of the food.”

“And you” Beatrice finished, looking pointedly at Anders as she refilled his glass, “are going to have a nap, now that Bela’s changed the sheets.” Anders blinked in surprise; when had Bela had time to do that? Ze had flown through the apartment like a whirling dervish, but he hadn’t noticed zir going into the bedroom.

“Okay” he agreed meekly, too tired to argue.    
“I’ll drive you to the hospital later” Bela said as ze went back for seconds.

Anders finally looked up, looked at the three Tabris siblings, and felt like he was going to cry. None of them had made a noise of complaint while they’d dealt with his mess. From where he sat he could see into the living room, and it was as neat and tidy as he’d ever seen it. Everything was sparkly clean and smelled of citrus, and on the kitchen counters several pans and boxes of food waited for Beatrice to deem them cool enough to be put in the freezer. 

“Thank you” Anders choked out. “Thank you, so much.”

Kali put a slender hand to his cheek, smiling in a way that seemed older than her twenty-three years. The caress made his eyes spill over.

“Today you” she said gently as she wiped away his tears, “tomorrow me.”

 

* * *

 

After three days’ incarceration Fenris seemed to have collapsed in on himself like a badly built house of cards. He was clearly exhausted; the lines around his eyes had deepened until they looked like craters. He sat hunched in on himself as if awaiting a beating, and Alistair’s heart went out to him. 

“Why did you fight with Caelan?” Alistair asked bluntly, mostly to cover up his instinct to put a friendly arm around his suspect’s shoulders and tell him it was going to be alright.

“It’s none of your-” the heated reply was expected, but Zevran cut it short.

“It’s very much our business, Fenris. We are talking attempted murder.” 

Fenris stared determinedly down at the table, not budging. Alistair felt the old frustration that was always lurking in his mind bubble to the surface. 

“Look, Fenris, at this rate you’re going down hard. Don’t you think you owe Anna the truth? Doesn’t she deserve to know why the man she loves tried to kill her brother?”

“I did not attack Caelan!” Fenris roared, his fists colliding with the table so hard Alistair momentarily worried about splinters.

“Then tell us the truth!” Alistair roared back, finally losing hold of his frustration. Fenris flinched as if he’d been struck, and Alistair forced himself to stay silent.

 

“We are wasting precious time with you.” Zevran wheedled. “Talk to us.”

A miniscule nod. The wall was crumbling. Zevran kept pushing, ruthless in his pursuit. “Anna is all alone out there, and how do we know that whoever hurt Caelan won’t go after her? Someone bashed his head in with a  _ cricket bat.  _ You can’t protect her when you’re in here.”

Fenris’ rapidly paling face told them that Zevran had struck gold.

“I-” the pale elf seemed to sink in on himself, like an inflated balloon.

“What do you want to know” he whispered hollowly.

 

“The truth would be a good place to start.” Alistair replied as he unclipped his pen. 

“Where were you on Thursday night between the hours of nine and midnight?” Zevran asked, once more all frigid business.

“I… I was with Oghren.”

“Who is Oghren?”

“Oghren Branka. He’s… he’s a friend.” Zevran raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow.

“With benefits?”   
“What, no! That's disgusting!”

“Is it?” Zevran’s face darkened and Fenris backtracked.

“I mean I’d never betray Anna like that. I love her, she-” he choked back an odd noise Alistair couldn't interpret. “She’s everything.”

“Why were you with Oghren, Fenris.” Alistair asked.

“Because…” Fenris hid his face in his hands for a moment. When he next spoke, his voice was thin and reedy. “He’s my sponsor.”

“Your sponsor?”

“Yeah… AA. I promised Anna when we married… no more drink. I…” he wetted his dry lips. Blue eyes flitted around the room like anxious butterflies. And everything fell into place in Alistair’s mind.

“You were drunk when you fought with Caelan, weren’t you?”

Fenris nodded miserably. “I don't even remember what we fought about. I… I get blackouts. Do mean things. I… I couldn’t. Not Anna.”

Fenris’ eyes were pleading.

“She’ll leave me” he whispered hoarsely.

 

* * *

 

After a brief phone conversation with what was probably the grumpiest dwarf Alistair had spoken to in his life, they had all the confirmation they needed. Fenris had showed up at Oghren's a little after six, slightly inebriated, and they’d spent the evening talking and eating Oghren’s homemade chili.

There was nothing to do but to cut the elf loose, no matter how it stung. 

“Back to the beginning” Zevran grumbled into his coffee. “The one punch man is in the clear.”

“Try to tone down your excitement” Alistar quipped, “or I’m going to start thinking you did it!”

“Are you going to hold me down until I confess?” Zevran purred and Alastair turned crimson with embarrassment. 

“What do you mean with a ‘one punch man’?” He asked, mostly as a diversion.

“He’s defensive. Like a cornered animal.” Zevran strolled over to the large whiteboard he’d spent most of the investigation drawing arrows on. “He only fights to protect himself. No, he didn’t do it.”

Zevran came to a halt in front of the board, arms crossed. He tapped his chin rhythmically with his index finger.

“What are we missing” he hummed to the tune of a song that Alistair had heard on the radio. “What, what, what, what are we missing…”

 

“Can I help?” a woman’s voice cut in and Zevran spun around, beaming at Aveline.

“My redheaded angel, you are sorely needed! Help away!”

Aveline rolled her eyes at him, then looked at the board.

“Have you talked to Merrill?” 

“Yes, why?” Alistair stood up and went to join them. “And you’re not supposed to be anywhere  _ near  _ this case.”

“Well, considering the fact that pretty much everyone on this station somehow knows Anders, none of us should be. And yet, here you are.” Aveline snarked. 

“Fair enough. What did you mean about Merrill?”

“About a month ago Caelan asked me how to get a restraining order, but I told him that since she isn’t menacing anyone there is nothing we can do.” 

“A restraining order? What were the grounds?”

“Apparently, he can’t go two days without her calling him and telling him he can still come back to her and they’ll work it out.”

 

Alistair frowned. He had seen crazy in his life, but this was on another level.

“She is aware that he has been in a relationship with another man for eighteen months?” Zevran asked, looking as baffled as Alistair felt.

“Yes, but I don’t think she cares.” Aveline shrugged. “Love makes fools of us all, I’ve been told.”

With that, she turned and stalked back to her desk, leaving Alistair and Zevran in her wake like a thunderstorm abandons the sinking ship.

“I need a burger. Extra fries.” Zevran muttered and grabbed his coat.

“I thought Bela had you on a diet?” Alistair wondered, but obediently followed. If he was in luck, Zevran would pay for his burger too.

On their way out, Alistair stopped by Aveline's desk and asked her to call the boys down in custody and tell them to cut Fenris loose.

 

* * *

 

Merrill let them in reluctantly, but proved a dutiful hostess in that she offered up iced tea and chocolate biscuits. Alistair looked around the small living room, taking in the many flowers blooming all around him on every available surface, just like his own home. If he hadn’t already known that the elf woman worked in a flower shop, he would have guessed something of the kind.

 

“How may I help you detectives?” Merrill asked, clearly nervous. She sat down on a little footstool, pressing her knees together and letting her hands rest in her lap, she had fine hands, Alistair noted as he pulled out his notebook and black pen. Long, slim fingers. She was dainty, but Alistair thought of his wife and wondered if she was strong enough to beat a man senseless. Perhaps if she was angry enough.

“We need to know more about Caelan. Can you tell us about him?”

“Caelan is…” Merrill let her fingers find the fringed hem of her dress, playing with it anxiously. “He is… sweet, kind, generous… passionate, talented. Beautiful.” She looked up, her eyes huge and wide in her narrow face. 

 

“You must have loved him very much” Zevran said gently as he dipped his third biscuit in his tea. 

“Love. I  _ love _ Caelan.” Merrill replied hotly. “And we were happy! We were going to get married and have children!”

“But he left you” Alistair pointed out. “Can you tell us about that?”

“He…” Merrill blinked rapidly, as if holding back tears. “It wasn’t his fault.” 

“How do you mean?” Alistair looked up from his notebook.

Merrill stared at him as if that was the silliest thing anyone had ever said to her in her life.

“Anders stole him” she said, as if it was common knowledge.

“It takes two,” Zevran said sardonically as he eyed the plate of biscuits. 

Merrill glared at him.

“You don’t know anything!” she spat.

“Then explain it to us,” Alistair said. “How did he steal Caelan?”

“He…” Merrill’s lower lip trembled, but her expression was determined. “Caelan went out Friday night. Leandra’s vernissage. I had a cold and stayed home. Caelan was so sweet, he tucked me in and promised to bring me bagels in the morning. I love bagels.”

 

“And did he?” Zevran wanted to know as he snagged his fifth biscuit. At this rate Alistair was going to tell on him to Bela.

“Did he what?” 

“Bring bagels.”   
“Oh. No. He… he came late. It was almost lunch time. I had waited, I wanted the bagels. Then he... “ Tears filled Merrill’s eyes. “He said he wanted to end things. Just like that. Like we weren’t everything to each other. Said he… he had met someone. That he... that he was in love. That’s when I understood.”   
“Sorry,” Alistair asked as he elbowed Zevran to stop him from eating even more, “understood what?”

“Why, that Anders had put a spell on him. An enchantment.”

“Wait a moment,” Alistair couldn’t believe his ears. “An  _ enchantment _ ?”

“Yes. Oh, detective, it was horrible. My Caelan, so completely under that horrible man’s spell. And I can’t break it. I’ve tried and tried, but I never get close enough.” The tears started to make their way down Merrill’s cheeks and Alistair felt torn between comforting her and calling for backup. She was clearly off her headh tslkinh aboit forbidden magic like she was discussing the weather. 

“I see…” Alistair began, trying to think of what to say. Luckily, Zevran came to his rescue.

“Do you own a bright coat?” 

Merrill looked confused. “Bright?”

“Yes. Bright coloured. White, yellow, tan…”

Merrill shook her head.   
“I only have one coat. It’s dark green.”

“Where were you the night before last?”

“With Tamlen and Aerwedh. I spend most of my nights there, helping with…” the guilt was clear in her eyes. She didn't finish the sentence.

 

* * *

 

As Alistair mopped up the last of the ketchup with the last of the gloriously greasy fries, Zevran paid the bill and asked for coffee.

“Demented” Zevran muttered the moment the waitress left. They’d been blissfully silent as they ate their burgers, but now it seemed his partner was in a chatty mood. “Honestly.  _ An enchantment _ ?”

“It sounds a bit far fetched, I agree. Anders, practicing unlawful magic? He’d rather drown a bag of kittens. But it helps her cope with the fact that Caelan dumped her. Rather harshly, too, apparently.”

Zevran made a noncommittal noise as he added a spoonful of sugar to the coffee the waitress had just brought. Alistair gave the girl a quick smile of thanks before adding milk to his cup.

“She’s mad.” The elf insisted. “Completely off her head.” Well, Alistair  _ had  _ been thinking the same thing earlier…

“I don’t know. Beatrice cleans the airs of our house with elves ear regularly and puts out milk for the halla.” 

“That’s just superstition,” Zevran waved his spoon at him. “But thinking some poor guy has put your ex under a spell? That’s demented.”

“But is she demented enough to attack him?” Alistair asked, giving up the argument before it had begun.

 

“I have no idea. Let’s keep her on the list.”

“We have a list?” 

“Of suspects, my friend.” Zevran waved his spoon again, to emphasise his point.   
“Oh. Who else is on the list?”

“As of now, Merrill and Kallian.”

“ _ Kallian?”  _ Alistair couldn't believe his ears.

“She was lying through her teeth when we talked to her last.” Zevran pointed out and finally got around to drinking his coffee instead of just stirring in sugar.

“Fair enough,” Alistair replied. “Shall we talk to her again, then?”

“Tomorrow. I have to go to the gym.” Alistair choked on his coffee. He had always figured that the maker had created the elf depressingly fit and the fitness didn't require upkeep. At least not the kind that involved public changing rooms. The idea of his lazy, sweet-loving, smooth-talking partner sweating at a gym was hysterical. 

“Gym? You?” he managed, mostly seeking confirmation.

Zevran made a face and drained his coffee cup in one gulp.

“Bela’s waiting. Wants to try yoga.”

Alistair laughed all the way to the car.

 

* * *

 

Merrill was exhausted, but she couldn’t sleep. Instead, she had spent most of the day and evening pacing back and forth unendingly, alternating between praying to the gods for forgiveness and panicking about the consequences of her actions. 

Her guilty conscience had tormented her unendingly since the detectives had left, and even though she had performed the neutralizing ritual twice she still felt as if it was all her fault. She had been angry, but who could blame her? She didn’t want him  _ dead. _ Just… just hurt, like he had hurt her, so she could take care of him like she always did. 

But the grim expressions on the detectives’ faces had really brought home how dangerous a game she was playing. A game in which she hadn’t understood the wagers and now Caelan, wonderful Caelan, was paying for her arrogance. 

 

And there was something else, too, nagging at her. If her magic could harm Caelan, when she had done it all for love of him, then… didn’t that mean that Anders was in terrible danger too? No matter what he had done, Merrill didn’t want Anders to be hurt. And if there was anything she could do to stop the events she had set in motion, then she had to try.  For Caelan’s sake. Her own darling Caelan. 

 

As she stood watching the rain, she made a decision. First, she was going to make a very important phone call, and then she was going to try to get some sleep. In the morning, she’d burn the effigy. Then she’d tell that kind detective Theirin everything.

 

* * *

 

Across the town, in a tiny two-story house on the edge of the woods, Kallian too was awake. Curled up under her thin blanket, she stared out the window at the trees, fuzzy and abstract in the rain. All she saw, was sharp thorns waiting to rip her apart. Until she lay bare and bleeding, all secrets exposed. Under her bed lay a cricket bat, the once pale wood rusty and dark with blood. 


	9. Chapter 9

> _These peppered holes so filled with crying_
> 
> _A whisper weighed upon the tattered down_
> 
> _where you and I were lying_
> 
>  
> 
> * * *
> 
>  

Alistair had been wrong in that Zevran didn’t exercise. He just didn't like going to the gym. Why go somewhere and pay good money when he had a perfectly good gym in the spare room at home? But try saying that to Bela when ze was enthusiastic about something. Well, to be fair, he had tried. Multiple times. But Bela had _pouted_ at him. And anyone who didn’t understand the impact of that statement had simply never seen Bela pout.

So there he was, on a Tuesday night, trying to shape his body into a pose called _the twisted seat._ One word: ow.

“You need to _relax_!” The yoga instructor told him for the tenth time and Zevran wondered if he could arrest her for intent to harm a guardsman. Probably not. Instead, he gave her his most lethal glare and tried to relax muscles he hadn’t known he _had_ , who all seemed perfectly happy to scream in agony.

Bela was going to _pay_ for this as soon as he managed to get to his feet. And not just because he was trying to do a pose that did not resemble a tree at all.

“Poor baby” Bela giggled later that evening, as ze fetched the expensive, organic massage oil from the bathroom. “Why do I have the distinct feeling you’re never again coming to class with me?”

“You want to go through that again?” Zevran groaned from where he lay sprawled on their king sized bed with his face in a blue satin pillow.

“I found it relaxing.” Bela replied as ze straddled Zevran’s aching hips and pulled the stopper out of the glass bottle. A deep, rich scent of cinnamon and sandalwood filled the air

“You are mad, my love.” Zevran whimpered and then groaned in pleasure-pain as Bela’s fingers started to work on the muscles that were clearly yelling how much they hated him for having made them work.

The soreness disappeared swiftly as Bela worked zir magic, leaving space for other sensations. Soon, Zevran was purring with pleasure as Bela’s hands worked lower, and lower, and lower.

When they came together, Bela pressed against his back as ze trust languidly, just hard enough to keep Zevran suspended somewhere between ecstasy and frustration, the embarrassment from the yoga session was all but forgotten.

\---

Over at Andraste’s Grace’s ICU, nurse Krem Aclassi stared at the vending machine and wondered if it would be worth the inability to sleep to have a soda. He was really craving one; his wife Lyssa had forbidden all drinks but tea, milk and water in the house since she came home from her latest nutrition seminar. To be fair, cleansing his body from the sugar - her words, not his - had helped with his energy levels and insomnia, but… it _was_ one in the morning and he had seven hours left to keep awake for. Due to severe understaffing he was once more alone in the ward apart from Cullen, not that there was really anything to do. There were only three patients at the present, all of them in comas, and he knew doctor Lavellan was somewhere in the hospital, just a call away.

Finally, Krem sighed deeply and turned away from the vending machine, not having bought anything. Besides, Cole had packed his dinner this night, and he had a pretty good feeling that it’d be orange chicken which was too good to be ruined by the cloying taste of carbonated drinks anyway.

In the doorway to the nurse's’ office he met Cullen, who had just made the rounds and looked about as weary as he felt.

“One of those nights” the blond said quietly, and Krem nodded. For it was one of those nights, when they stared at the chessboard more than the monitors and the only sound heard apart from their breathing and the quiet knocking noises from the chess pieces moving, was the silence.

It was a healing silence, as Lyssa had described it once. And she had a point, Krem thought; it was one of those nights where the patients sleep dreamlessly and emergencies happen somewhere else.

Krem moved his rook and cursed when Cullen immediately took it with his knight.

“Careless, Aclassi” Cullen goaded, but with no real jibe in the words. Krem flipped him off anyway.

“Yeah yeah, your move, Rutherford.”

Cullen smirked at him and knocked another of Krem’s rooks of the table. Krem scowled, but could do little about it.

After about thirty minutes, during which Krem lost spectacularly, it was time for another round through the quiet ward. As he moved slowly through the dimly lit corridor, Krem found himself whistling the song Lyssa had been humming most of the day previous. He liked the way she smiled when she sang, even if her voice was rather dreadful. She couldn’t carry a tune if her life depended on it.

He checked the status of the machines keeping Caelan Hawke alive, when he saw it. At first he wasn’t sure, but then he saw it again. A twitch. Hawke’s right hand had spasmed, moved about a quarter of an inch over the blanket. As Krem stared intently, the fingers curled briefly before once more losing their mobility and lying limply against the sheet.

“Welcome back” Krem murmured, as he left the room.

Caelan, in his dreams, heard him. And smiled.

\---

“This case is giving me a headache” Zevran complained over donuts, which he was eating at his desk. “It just doesn’t add up.”

“Run it by me” Alistair replied as he hung up his coat and considered changing his shoes. It was raining cats and dogs outside, and if there was one thing he hated it was having wet socks. But then he remembered that he didn’t have any dry socks at work and walking around barefoot was probably a bad idea. If nothing else, it looked rather unprofessional. “what is it that’s bothering you?”

“The person who assaulted Caelan with the bat, was angry. It feels like a spur of the moment thing. But the insulin…”

“I know what you mean” Alistair said as he stole a donut which turned out to have raspberry filling, “it’s… colder. Pre-planned.”

They considered this while eating.

“I still think Merrill knows something.” Zevran ventured, “And Kallian definitely knows more than she’s telling us.”

“Medical knowledge?” Zevran sounded hopeful

“Possibly. Merrill, at least. If nothing else, she’d know about Caelan’s diabetes.”

“But how did she get into the hospital?”

“No idea. Let’s go ask her.”

Alistair sighed deeply. “Can’t we wait till after the rain?”

It had been drizzling all day, but now the window panes were rattling. “If we wait til after the rain we’ll be here for days” Zevran pointed out and wiped his greasy fingers. “Come on, I’ll drive.”

The rain was still going strong as Zevran carefully maneuvered the car into the abandoned Denerim streets. It was so dark, Alistair had to check the car clock to confirm it was actually not the dead of the night. Zevran switched on the windshield wipers, but they didn’t help much.

“What is this, the great deluge?” the elf complained as he squinted into the rain.

“Definitely end of the world” Alistair agreed as he pulled but his notebook and balanced it on the dashboard.

“To Merrill’s, then” Zevran murmured as he squinted into the rain.

“Hmm” Alistair made a noncommittal noise as he pulled out his phone, leafing through his notebook to find Merrill’s number. He had to use his phone’s display to shine on the pages.

“No answer” Alistair frowned as he listened to the signal beeping in rhythm with the rain.

“Maybe she’s at work” Zevran said, making a rude gesture at a car Alistair only saw the outline of.

Alistair dialled the flower shop.

“ _Bloomin’ Lovely_ , this is Marethari” a woman answered on the first ring.

“Hello, this is detective Alistair Theirin, I’d like to speak to Merrill.” Alistair turned back to his to-do list, made a line under it and got ready to take notes.

“I’m sorry detective, Merrill called in sick” the woman replied, clearly stressed. “Of all the days not to show up-”

“I see. Well, during the circumstances-”

“Oh, I know. But we have a big order due and I need her! Blasted girl.” and with that, she slammed down the phone. Alistair was left with the disconnect tone.

“Apparently, Merrill’s sick.” He said, unwilling to go check on her. He thought of Beatrice. If Merrill was really sick and not just playing hooky- Zevran saw his expression. “Fantastic.”

“You can have tea with Tamlen while I talk to her” Zevran offered in a teasing tone.

“Oh, shut up and drive.”

They rode in silence for several minutes, Zevran staring out at the darkened streets and Alistair drawing random lines and doodles on one of the pages in the back of his notebook.

“One thing bothers me about all this.” Alistair murmured thoughtfully. “I’m not sure if it’s relevant or not.”

“Oh?” Zevran momentarily took his gaze off the road to give him a questioning look.”

“The ring.” Alistair tapped his pen against the top of the notebook, liking the sound. Zevran turned back to the road.

“How do you mean?”

“Caelan was going to ask Anders to marry him. I don’t know about you, but when I asked Beatrice to marry me I gave her a ring.”

Zevran pursed his lips, pensive.

“Bela isn't much for rings, i gave zir a diamond bracelet.“

“But still, jewelry. And… I think it was Anna, who told us that Caelan had made a ring himself. So where is it?”

“You think it might be important.” “I don't know. Maybe.“ Alistair looked out the window, seeing the hospital up ahead.

“Park as close as you can, would you?” He said as he put his notebook in his inner pocket and got ready to sprint.

\---

Leandra Hawke stood by the window in her kitchen, staring out at the furious rain. The dark skies and the steady rumble made her feel small, and it led her thought down paths she didn’t want to go. To her son, her sweet boy, in a hospital bed. Fighting for his life. How had they come to this, she wondered as she sliced the mushrooms for dinner. She was going to make mutton stew, Carver’s favourite. He needed some cheering up, she thought. They all did.

Scraping the chopped mushrooms into the pot that already held the meat and stock, she turned to get the carrots from the fridge. Her gaze fell on a small wooden cat, which Caelan had carved as a reminder of their old mouser. It functioned as a knife holder, but if you didn’t know that all you’d see would be a very lifelike statue sleeping on the counter. It made Leandra’s eyes spill over with tears, and her hands fell uselessly to her sides.

Her sweet boy. Her Caelan. How had they come to this?

A nose made her jump and turn around. Carver stood in the doorway, a book in his hand. He had made the noise by opening it and then quickly slamming it shut.

“What is it, dear?” she signed, trying to wipe away her tears at the same time.

“Mum, did you refill my prescription?” He said, looking confused.

“Yes, honey. Why?”

“Because I’m almost out, and I can’t find the new bottle.”

Leandra frowned. That was strange. She was sure she’d picked up the insulin just the other day.

\---

As it turned out, there was no need for Alistair to worry about possible transmittance of disease. Merrill lay on the floor of her living room, a pool of blood under her head. Next to her lay a broken lamp, the once white ceramic rust coloured with dried blood. Alistair crouched down and pressed two fingers to her neck, checking for a pulse. Nothing.

“‘I’ll call it in” Zevran said, already dialing.

While Zevran talked to dispatch, Alistair stood up and looked around the room. There were no signs of a struggle; most likely, the assailant had taken Merrill by complete surprise. Wanting to get a feel for the crime, Alistair moved carefully through the apartment. He made sure not to touch anything, as you never knew what could turn out to be evidence.

Merrill’s bedroom was small; a thin bed, a closet, and a vanity desk. Nothing out of the ordinary at first glance. But Alistair wasn’t interested in the furniture; he was interested in the doll lying on the vanity. It was crude, made from some sort of tan fabric, with what must be hair taped to it head. Dark hair, Alistair noted and wondered if it was Caelan’s. The doll had a multitude of needles shoved into it, most of them in the head and chest.

“That’s an effigy” Zevran said somewhere behind him, making him startle. “Pretty common in Antiva. If there is someone you want to suffer you make an effigy, add some hair from the person, and then use it to hurt them or bring misfortune.” “I thought you said that was complete rot.”

“It is. Doesn't mean there aren’t people who believe in it.”

“Well, Merrill clearly believed in it. I wonder if that’s what got her killed.”

“Don’t let Wynne hear you say that” Zevran laughed, referring to the coroner. Wynne was a middle-aged, no-nonsense woman who ran her lab with an iron fist. If she heard Alistair talk about effigies she’d demand he see a psychologist. Or a templar. Rogue mages were not to be trifled with. But somehow, he didn’t think that was the the case here.

“If you secure the scene, I’ll go see if the neighbours heard anything” Alistair sighed and turned to leave the bedroom. Zevran followed obligingly.

Aerwedh Mahariel shook his head firmly.

“I’m sorry detectives, I haven’t seen anything. Not heard, either, but I’m a heavy sleeper. Plus, the rain made the windows rattle all night so…”

Alistair sighed, but had to agree. The windows in his own house had rattled most of the night, too. The rain had calmed somewhat since the morning, but it was still going. It was no surprise that the elf had heard nothing. He was just about to leave, when a strange thrilling noise echoed through the apartment.

“Tamlen” Aerwedh said shortly and hurried past the human. Alistair followed, curious.

Tamlen Mahariel sat in his wheelchair, this day dressed in a blue shirt.

“What is it, love?” Aerwedh asked as he picked up a large glass board, balancing it on his one hip and holding the top with his hand. Alistair stared in confusion, as Tamlen’s eyes started moving rapidly.

“Slow down, I can’t keep up” Aerwedh complained as he picked up a black marker. “Okay. start over.”

And then Alistair could do little but stare in amazement as Aerwedh spelled out a message, based on nothing but how Tamlen’s eyes moved.

“I saw a woman. On the street.”

Alistair almost-jumped in excitement.

“You saw someone? Can you describe her? Are you sure it was a woman?”

The answer came slowly, but surely.

“Short. Slender. Yellow raincoat. Hood.” “When was this?”

“Last night. After the news.”

Alistair’s head spun. Was it possible? A woman in a yellow raincoat. Was this the same person who had attacked Caelan?

Was it possible that they were looking for a _woman?_

\---

The rain finally calmed down to a freezing drizzle sometime in the afternoon, and by the time Alistair tried to get to his front door as fast as possible it was almost acceptable. But not quite.

“Hello honey!” Beatrice called, “we’re in the kitchen!” He hung up his dripping jacket, put his notebook, pens, and keys where they belonged and kicked off his shoes, swearing to the maker that he was going to get a pair of gumboots this weekend, no later. His wet socks ended up on the hallway radiator, and it was barefoot Alistair padded into the kitchen. As he walked, he tried his best not to notice how his jeans chafed against his legs.

He found Beatrice stirring a pot of something that smelled absolutely divine as Cyrion, his father-in-law, set the table.

“Hello” Alistair said, suddenly self-conscious. He probably looked like a wet cat, and that didn't help at all with feeling like anything but the awkward teenager who had fallen tits over arse for the elf’s pretty daughter.

“Evening, Alistair.” Cyrion looked up and flashed a tired smile. His bad back always got worse when it rained.

“Cyrion. I’m gonna go shower, I feel half dead.”

Beatrice gave him a cheeky grin. “That’s nothing to how you look, honey.”

Alistair gasped dramatically, clutching his chest.

“Oh, the cruelty! Hear how she speaks to me, my own sweet wife-”

He threw himself to his knees in front of his giggling wife. “Oh, the pain! I cannot bear it, surely I shall die!”

“Oh get up, you silly man, and go put some dry clothes on before you get sick.”

Alistair clasped her hand, kissing it reverently.

“Nay, not until you say you love me! I’d rather die!”

Beatrice laughed.

“I love you! Now go!”

Beatrice waited until she heard the door to the upstairs bathroom click shut, before she called;

“Stop hiding in the living room, Kali. Get in here and slice the bread.”

It was very slowly, and with clear reluctance, that Kallian came into the kitchen. Her hair was wet, and she held a few bright red roses.

“The roses are lovely, dear” Cyrion said, trying to alleviate the sudden tension that had filled the air. Kallian’s hands shook as she opened the cupboard where the vases were kept.

“Yes” she agree quietly, “lovely.”

Cyrion looked thoughtfully at both his daughters.

“How bad is it, Bee?” he finally demanded. Beatrice turned back to the stove, exuding a false calm.

“I don’t know what you mean, daddy.” She said, keeping her voice neutral. She added some herbs to the pot and turned down the heat.

“When you and Bela were ten you made me a promise, Bee. what was it?”

“No matter how bad it is,” Beatrice couldn’t meet his gaze. “Always tell daddy the truth.”

“And yet here you are, lying to me.”

Kallian started to cry. “It’s for me, daddy. She’s lying for me.”

Cyrion went over to his youngest girl and took her in his arms.

“Sunny” he said, using the old nickname that he’d given her the first time he saw her properly smile, “Tell me. I won’t judge.”

“It’s about the roses” Kallian sobbed. “Oh, daddy, I did something horrible.”

He rocked her slowly. Stroked her wet hair.

“Sunny” he appealed.

And she told him.

When Alistair rejoined his family in the kitchen, he immediately picked up on the tense atmosphere. Cyrion was still hugging Kallian hard, and it was obvious from just one look at her that she had been crying. Beatrice was pale, too.

“Okay, what is it” he demanded, “am I going to have to arrest somebody?”

“No, Ali” Beatrice smiled encouragingly, but her smile was slightly off. “Kali’s just having a rough time at work. That’s all. Help me with the pot?”

He got the oven mitts from their hook and transferred the pot to the mat on the table as he considered whether to tell his wife that she was a lousy liar and he didn’t like it when she tried it on him. The decision was taken away from him, however, by the doorbell.

“That’s Bela and the others.” Kallian said, “I’ll go.”

Dinner was excellent, but to be fair Alistair had never eaten anything Beatrice had cooked that wasn’t excellent. Everyone had multiple helpings of the flavorful fish soup and fresh bread, and the chocolate cake wasn’t hard to get down either. Even if Bela pinched Zevran’s am hard when he went for thirds.

“You can help me work it off when we get home” Zevran had teased in response, making Bela turn as red as zir hair. Anders, who had said very little during the meal, gave them a shaky smile.

“None of that when your father is present, isn’t that the rule?” he said, his voice almost normal. Cyrion gave him an encouraging smile.

“I like living in my little fantasy where none of my children ever grew up.” he teased, making Bela laugh.

“Oh daddy” Beatrice smiled, “we are capable of making our own decisions.”

“Yes” Cyrion replied dryly as he started gathering up the dishes, “but some of them are terrible.” Kallian paled and looked like she was about to start crying again, but meekly handed her plate to her father.

“It will be alright, Sunny” he said quietly as he accepted it.

Zevran's brow furrowed, clearly signalling that he was as suspicious as Alistair, but none of them said anything, both wanting to keep the evening as normal and carefree as the circumstances allowed for Anders’ sake.

Instead, Zevran helped with the dishes as Alistair got the items they needed to continue their game of _Grey Wardens_ from the living room. When he got back, the table had been cleared and it was only for him to hand out the rule books, papers and dice needed for the game.

“I still think it was a terrible idea to let Kallian be games master” Cyrion griped as he fetched a couple of pens.

“When you were games master we all ended up in the fade battling fear demons for _three weeks_.” Bela pointed out.

Cyrion harrumphed, and turned to his youngest daughter.

“Alright, warden commander” he said, referring to the title that was usually given to the games master, “recap.”

Kallian drew a deep, shaky breath, looked at her paper, and obeyed.

Alistair walked in with a tray just as Zevran rolled the dice.

“Is eight enough for me to scale the wall to get into the upper floor bedrooms?” the blond asked.

Kallian consulted the rulebook.

“It is, but you get spotted by the guards.”

“Right, then I climb as fast as I can and hide somewhere in the room above.”

“I try to cast a magic spell to distract the guards so Zev can hide” Bela said and rolled his dice.

Kallian looked up from the book.

“You are successful in your attempt and the guards get confounded.” She said.

“Drinks?” Alistair cut in and was greeted by relieved cries as he took his seat next to Beatrice.

“Thank the gods” Cyrion groaned, “the templar is back!”

“What am I, decoration?” Beatrice protested.

“No but you’re still in the courtyard, my dear” Zevran chided as he accepted a glass of iced tea.

“Then I get pissed at all the nobles and try to make my escape” Beatrice decreed and rolled.

“You get stopped by the exit staircase by a noblewoman who thinks that because of her status she can make you go to bed with her and she won’t take no for an answer” Kallian stuck her tongue out at her older sister.

“Can I kill her?” Beatrice demanded.

“No, she’s the king’s cousin.”

Beatrice said a word that made Alistair’s ears turn pink, then turned to him beseechingly.

“Save me!”

“I’ll try.” Alistair put his drink down and picked up the dice.

“Rolling to see if I can distract the noblewoman.” He got a three.

“You fail miserably with the distraction and she suggests a threesome.” Kallian smirked as Bela and Zevran burst out laughing.

“At this rate we’ll never discover who let the darkspawn into the city” Beatrice muttered.

Kallian, who was having a blast being Game Master, grinned evilly at her sister as she went on with the narrative:

“The guards have now started to suspect something is going on and have just decided to do a sweep of the upper floor.”

Anders laughed at Zevran’s expression of dismay and grabbed the dice.

“Once more, it’s the apostate to the rescue.” he said as he rolled.

Kallian looked at the dice, looked at Anders, and smiled angelically.

\---

Alistair watched Cyrion walk through the drizzle of rain towards his house, but just as Kallian was about to get out of the car he stopped her with a hand on her arm.

“It’s a really bad idea to hide things from a guardsman, you know” he said quietly, watching as her face paled.

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “See, there you go again. Lying.”

“I had nothing to do with what happened to Caelan” she begged.

“Now that, I believe is true. But you’re hiding something, Kallian. Sooner or later, I’m going to find out what. It’s better if I get it from you.”

“I don’t know anything. Please, father is waiting. I didn’t do anything.”

Alistair turned his head so he could look her straight in the eyes. He could see little but terror there.

“But that’s not true, Kali. We both know it.”


	10. Chapter 10

_The road is long, with many a winding turn_   
_That leads us to who knows where - who knows when_   
_But I'm strong, strong enough to carry him_   
_\- The Hollies, ‘He ain't heavy, he's my brother’_

* * *

 

Doctor Vivienne La Fer looked decidedly unimpressed as she looked at the people gathered in front of her in the small room that was supposed to be her office if she ever had time to actually be there.

“We have done extensive testing,” she said, “and we have been able to draw a few conclusions. The skull x-rays are promising…” it was clear from the blank faces staring back that they didn’t understand. Vivienne felt a headache coming on and wished desperately that Josephine was there. She was an expert at turning hospital jargon to common. But Josephine had the day off, so Vivienne had to manage on her own.

“I want you all to understand that Caelan is waking up. However, it is a slow process and it is not linear. He can get worse. At the present state, we are very cautious.”

The older woman, the one with the grey hair, started to cry. The young brunette woman turned to the two men and started signing.

“However” She went on, “you must understand that Caelan is blind.” The blonde woman who stood by the door made a little cry.

“There is nothing technically wrong with his eyes, but the parts of the brain that interpret visual stimuli is damaged. It is very, very rare that this sort of damage heals, and there are still no methods to safely heal that part of the brain.”

There, that was understandable, wasn’t it?

“He’s blind” the older woman, Mrs. Hawke, whispered in horror. “You’re telling us he’s blind.”

“Well, at least he’s not a vegetable,” Vivienne said, trying to cheer her up. By the look on the woman’s face, it was clearly the wrong thing to say.

“I… I’m gonna call Anders,” The blonde said and disappeared out the door.

* * *

 

Caelan strained to see in the darkness, but it was as if a dark fog held him in a ruthless grip and nothing penetrated the thick darkness.

“Ahn” he groaned, groping around helplessly. A thin hand grasped his.

“I’m here, Kee.” But it wasn’t the voice he wanted; it was a voice he knew, but he didn't have the energy to place it.

“Ahn” he tried again, cursing his tongue for not obeying him. “Ahn. _Ahn._ ”

“I…” the same voice again. “I think he’s trying to say, _Anders_.”

Yes, that was it. _Ahn._ There was a rustle of fabric and the creaking of chairs, then the small hand was replaced with a bigger one. A strong hand, with long calloused fingers.

“Caelan” a male voice, clogged with tears. “Caelan, I’m here.”

That was the voice he wanted. Caelan smiled and squeezed the hand.

“Love” he sighed as he sank back into a healing sleep.

Somewhere in the distance, Anders whispered a reverent, “love you too.”

The next time Caelan woke up, it was to two strangers. One had a voice that was deep, kind, but with a hint of laughter. He introduced himself as “Detective Alistair Theirin”. _Human_ , Caelan thought fuzzily. Something with the pitch. The other voice was accented, but not in a way that jarred. He couldn’t place it, apart from it not being tevene, like Fenris. Detective Zevran Arainai, that was the name.

“We understand you are very tired,” detective Theirin said, his voice flowing over Caelan like molten honey. “We just want to ask a few questions about your… attack.”

Caelan tried to nod, but something kept his neck locked in place and he only managed a small move of his head. It was apparently enough, as detective Arainai took over.

“Do you remember the attack?”

Caelan tried to think back, but all his memories were caught in a syrupy fog, refusing to clear. He remembered dinner. Anna beaming at him… he’d told her something that made her happy. Helping mum with dishes. The shortcut through the alley. Then nothing.

“No,” he croaked.

There was silence, then Detective Theirin again.

“Do you… have any idea who would do this to you?”

Blue eyes flashed in his memory. Fury. Desperation. Ice-cold.

“No.”

* * *

 

In the corridor just outside Caelan’s sick room, Zevran grabbed Anders by the arm as he practically stormed past the detectives.

“One question,” he hissed, “then you can go in.”

Anders clearly looked unhappy but stopped obediently.

“One.” he said, “then I’m going in.”

“Alright,” Zevan said, “do you know a woman who owns a yellow raincoat?”

That was _not_ the question Anders had expected, that much was obvious. His gaze disappeared somewhere in the distance as he wetted his lips, thinking.

“I think… Anna has one. Caelan’s sister.”

“Only her?” Zevran’s gaze was sharp.

“Well, Kallian recently bought a yellow coat, but it's useless in the rain. She always whines about needing an umbrella. Come to think of it… I haven’t seen it lately.”

And with that, Anders tore himself free from Zevran’s grip and the two detectives were left staring at each other as the door closed.

“Well,” Zevran said, “I didn’t see that coming.”

“Me neither. Coffee?”

“Rough night?” Zevran teased, thinking back at how Beatrice had stared at her husband like a starving woman at a barbecue as he and Bela had left the previous night.

Alistair refused to dignify that with an answer.

 

* * *

 

Vivienne eyed the detectives suspiciously.

“I am in a hurry, but… go on.”

“We understand you’re very busy, ma’am,” Zevran said, sounding like he was about to ask her where she’d been all his life, “we just need some information on Caelan Hawke.” Vivienne ignored his hints at flattery. It was obvious to her that it was a habit, not something he really meant.

“Very well” she sighed, “what do you need?”

“Can you give us a general diagnosis?” Alistair asked quickly, feeling his own stress levels rise rapidly just from her presence.

“Well, when you’re dealing it the brain it’s not easy to give a prognosis. The blindness is permanent, and we expect motion issues due to the damage to the cerebellum. That’s the part of the brain that controls movement” Vivienne added when she saw their blank expressions. “There is also damage done to the vertebrae in the neck but we don’t know how severe that is until we try to get him on his feet. All we can say is that based on responses to stimuli he is not paralyzed. And now I really have to go-”

“One more question” Alistair stepped in front of her as she was about to leave. “What about his memory? He doesn't remember the attack.”

“The brain scans show nothing that could influence his memory, but it is rather common that the brain blocks out trauma. We simply don’t know. He might remember, he might not. I’m sorry, we’re dealing with the brain here. It’s like stumbling through the fade in the dark with a really bad map.”

And with that final comment, she was gone in a flurry of white coat and dark skin.

Zevran stared after her, full of admiration.

“What a woman” he whistled.

* * *

 

Anna Hawke allowed Alistair and Zevran in with obvious reluctance.

“I’m about to go to the hospital,” she said, but still offered to make them coffee. Alistair declined, but Zevran asked for a glass of water.

“Where is Fenris?”

“At work.” Anna sounded tired, her blue eyes flitted listlessly through the room.

“How are things?” Alistair asked carefully, not sure why he had.

“It’s… he’s going away Monday. Rehab.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. me too. But he says…” she looked down at her lap, where her ruined hand lay uncovered. “He says... he says he needs help I can’t give him.”

She tried to smile, but her lips shook. “He wants to be a better man for me.”

“I know that feeling,” Alistair sad encouragingly. “Beatrice makes me try to be a better man every day.”

“I don’t need him to be better. I just need him here.” Anna managed a smile this time.

“How can I help you, detective?” She asked.

“We need to know where you were last night.”

“Here, why?”

Alistair ignored the question.

“Anyone who can confirm that?”

“Fenris. Oh, and Aveline showed up at… nine-ish. I’m not sure. She was upset.”

“How long did she stay?”

“Oh, she slept on the couch. She’s fighting with Donnic again.” This was news to Alistair; he’d never noticed anything off about Aveline. Perhaps she had a really good poker face.

“You know something about that,” Zevran said as he put down his glass. He was staring intently at Anna, who blushed.

“I... yes. But Aveline doesn’t know that… I don’t want her to get hurt.“

“Go on,” Zevran insisted.

“I don’t see how it’s relevant...” Anna protested but then gave in. “I… Donnic’s… he’s having an affair. Aveline suspects but…”

“With who?” Zevran demanded. Anna looked unhappy.

“I don’t see-” she started, but Zevran interrupted her.“Let us decide what’s relevant and not. Who is he seeing?”

“My brother,” Anna whispered, looking deeply unhappy.

Alistair felt his jaw drop. He felt like she’d just hit him over the head with a mallet.

“Does Anders know?” he squeaked. “That Caelan-”

“What?” Anna looked up. “Oh! No, no detective. Not Caelan. Carver!”

“Carver? But he’s-” he stammered. Anna frowned.

“What, deaf? Young? Vulnerable?”

“Err-” No matter what he said, it’d sound awful.

“I don’t like it either. But he’s nineteen and perfectly capable of telling meddling older sisters where they can shove their concerns.” Anna shook her head. “And he loves him. I can understand that.”

There was an uncomfortable silence that none of them seemed willing to break.

Finally, Zevran got up to put his now empty glass in the sink. As he walked through the kitchen, he nonchalantly asked,

“Do you own a yellow raincoat?”

Anna startled. “Yes, I do. Why?”

Once more, Alistair ignored her confusion.“May we see it, please?”

Anna disappeared into the hallway, and while she was gone Alistair and Zevran exchanged looks. A conversation took place between Zevran’s half-scowl and Alistair’s raised eyebrow.

When Anna came back into the kitchen, she was empty-handed.

“I can’t find it,” she said apologetically.

“Do you have any idea who might have taken it?” Zevran demanded.

Anna made a helpless gesture and shook her head.

* * *

 

Back at the station, Zevran wrote ‘woman in yellow raincoat’ in capitals on his whiteboard.

“What do you think, is she lying?” he asked as he drew an arrow to Merrill and wrote MURDER under the name.

“Who, Anna? No, I don’t think so. And besides, what reason could she have for lying?”

“Apart from not wanting to go to prison?” Zevran snarked and Alistair hung his head, chagrined.

“You’re probably right” Zevran soothed in his best _‘you’re not stupid, Theirin’_ -tone. “She doesn’t really have a motive for wanting Merrill out of the picture, now does she?”

“Not one I can think of. Besides, the blow that killed Merrill was to the right temple. Anna can’t have done it; that arm can’t swing anything.” Alistair felt a bit better from the encouraging smile his partner was giving him. That he had made a deduction helped, too.

“Alright, that’s Anna off the hook. What about Kallian?”

“Hmm.” Alistair looked down at his lap, thinking. Something was nagging at him. Something important. But whatever it was, it refused to come to him.

Alistair let it go and went to get himself some more coffee from the canteen. Maybe a pastry, too. Pregnancy sex might be spectacular, but being kept awake by a horny wife until five in the morning it was downright _exhausting._

* * *

 

“Where did you get off to?” Zevran asked, clearly irritated. Alistair held up his takeaway mug as a reply.

“The autopsy report on Merrill came in” the elf went on. “Anna Hawke is off the hook. Also, the perpetrator is estimated to be 5’6-5’8.”

Alistair turned to the murder board, trying to get his brain to start working again.

“Okay, let’s summarize, then.”

Zevran nodded sharply, then went over to the board and crossed out the name _Anna Hawke_.

“We can cross out Thekla,” he said, “He’s too tall. Might as well pass that to missing persons.”

“He also doesn’t have white hair” Alistair pointed out.

“Kallian?” Zevran offered. “She could be the nurse _and_ Merrills killer. There’s something she’s hiding.”

“True, but I don’t think it’s to do with Hawke. What motive does she have, anyway?”

Zevran made a face. “Protecting Anders? She’s very protective of him after everything.”

“So is Bee, but she doesn’t go bashing people’s heads in. Bela neither. And besides, where is the logic in killing Merrill to protect Anders?”

“Fair enough. But I still want to know what happened to her coat.”

“I’ll drive past the shop on the way home and ask her.”

“All right,” Zevran said agreed, “Kallian is… momentarily off the hook.”

They were silent for a few moments.

“Let’s start again at the top” Alistair sighed, “work through the suspects one by one. Who do we have left?”

Zevran played distractedly with the whiteboard pen, throwing it in the air with one hand and catching in the other. “Anders?”

Alistair shook his head. “Too tall. And if we are working on the assumption that the woman who visited Merrill wore Anna’s raincoat, then it’s not him. It wouldn't go on his shoulders.”

“It could be him that went after Caelan. He would know about the insulin.”

“True, but why would he try to kill the man he loves? Plus he has an alibi for the assault, and the evidence doesn’t add up.”

Zevran crossed Anders’ name, feeling a sense of satisfaction. He liked Anders.

“Fenris? He is the right height and has white hair.” he offered, rewarded with a deep sigh from Alistair.

“Alibi for Merrill and the assault on Caelan. No medical knowledge.”

Zevran put down the pen, went over to his desk, and fetched not a sweet like Alistair had expected, but a hairpin. It was in the shape of a dragonfly with sparkly wings, the sort that would appeal to a little girl. Somehow it looked just right holding back Zevran’s blond hair.

“Merrill?” Zevran asked as he returned to the board and crossed out Fenris.

“Merrill is _dead_.”

“But she wasn’t dead when Caelan was attacked in the hospital.”

Alistair hummed, thinking it over.

“I don’t think she’d do it. She loved him, I can’t see her deliberately trying to kill him. And if it was her, why was she killed?”

“Maybe her accomplice had to shut her up.”

“You think there were two of them.”

“It makes sense, doesn’t it? White hair at the scene of the assault. A brunette nurse.”

Zevran turned to Alistair, suddenly excited.

“Hear me out!” He said. “The first person attacks Caelan on the way to the Man, intending to kill him. But it fails, so person number 2 sneaks into the hospital and poisons him, to finish him off.”

It sounded like a plausible theory. Way too plausible. But who were these people? They fell into silence, each trying to see the jigsaw they were assembling. But there were too many pieces that wouldn’t line up or didn’t appear clearly.

“Carver?” Alistair hesitantly offered up.

“Hmm, how tall is he?” Alistair leafed through his notebook, finally coming up with the list he’d compiled of people’s heights back before Merrill had been killed.

“Carver is 6ft even” he reported.

“So he’s too tall.”

“Too tall for the assault, anyway. And besides, a deaf man beating the shit out of someone in an alley? It doesn’t add up. He wouldn’t notice if anyone saw them.”

“Do we know if he has medical knowledge?”

“No, but the same thing again. He would be unable to sneak into a hospital.”

“Maybe he knows something, though.”

“Let’s talk to him tomorrow” Alistair made a note on a blank page.

“We’re going to need an interpreter” Zeran reminded him. “Bethany?”

“Why the hell would she go after her own brother?” Alistair protested.

“People do stupid shit when they’re in love with love someone,” Zevran said as if he was reciting the chant of light. ”Merrill thought she’d cursed Caelan.”

“A crush eighteen months ago? You don’t think she’s over it by now?”

Zevran raised his eyebrow.

“I’ll put her on the list” Alistair sighed. “Who do we have left?”

“Just Leandra.”

“No.” Alistair shook his head determinedly. “I can in some sick way understand a sister or brother beating your brains in, but your own _mother_?”

Zevran got a strange expression on his face.

“Not everyone has a mother like yours, Theirin,” he said, quietly.

\---

Alistair got in his car, ready to head home when he thought better off it. If he remembered correctly, Kallian still worked half the week in Cyrion’s shop. She should be there now, so he’d be able to talk to her on the way home without involving Beatrice. After all, it wouldn’t do to worry her unnecessarily.

He parked the car a bit sloppily on the street, then checked he had his notebook and pens. He was just about to leave his car and go have words with his sister-in-law when one of the pens slid from his pocket and onto the floor. With a muffled curse, Alistair dove down to find it. After a bit of rummaging under the passenger seat, he found his pen, but he also found something else. A note, dirty and with frayed edges. It was written in sloppy handwriting, but Alistair had no problem reading it. And as he read, every shred of color disappeared from his face.

Suddenly the fuzzy jigsaw picture became crystal clear.


	11. Chapter 11

_Goodbye, everybody, I've got to go_

_Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth_

_Mama, I don't want to die_

_I sometimes wish I'd never been born at all_

_Queen, ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’_

* * *

 

Kallian turned pale when she saw Alistair enter Cyrion's little bookshop but she managed to keep calm a she finished gift wrapping a book for a human woman in her mid-fifties.

After the woman had left, Alistair walked up to the counter.

“I just have one question, then I’ll leave” he said, in as soothing tone as he could. “Where is your yellow coat?”

The response to his question was not at all what he had expected. Kallian’s pale face turned stark white and she started to sway where she stood.

Alistair dove forward, putting an arm around her shoulders and escorted her into the back room.

“Kallian, for the maker’s sake, tell me what’s going on” he begged as he helped her sit down on a rickety fold-out chair.

_\--Flashback--_

_It was raining gently, and once more Kallian silently cursed the lack of guest parking on Anders’ street. It meant she had to walk quite a ways, but she smiled and waved goodbye to the man she saw as her older brother as he closed his front door. If she hurried, she’d make it to her car before the rain really got started. If she was even luckier, it’d be one of those short blasts of downpour that ended as soon as it began. She held her arm over her head and walked as quickly as she could without running back to her car._

_That’s when she saw him, on the edge of the street. She’d know that figure anywhere; it featured prominently in her nightmares. He even had that old army style coat she remembered, and she was immediately thrown back in time. To the night when she had been a terrified seventeen-year-old, picking glass out of Anders’ hair as she waited for the ambulance to arrive, praying to every god she knew the name of that he kept breathing._

_She wanted to turn tail and run, but she also remembered the promise she had made as she held Anders’ hand in the ambulance. So, instead she approached him._

_“Karl. Long time no see.”_

_\--end flashback--_

“I had my cricket bat in my car” she whispered, staring down at her hands, clasped in his. Alistair felt sick, but he couldn’t move from where he stood, crouched down in a gesture of comfort. Kallian went on, as if she couldn't stop:

“I don’t think he saw me coming. And it was… it was like I couldn’t stop. I wanted to… I wanted to destroy him, like he destroyed our family. He nearly killed Anders, you know.”

Alistair nodded, mute, swallowing hard to keep down the bile. He remembered, he remember all too well. The hospital, the blood. The empty door frame. _Seventy-five shards of glass_. He couldn't hear what she was saying over the roaring in his head.

Kallian seemed to be finished, tears dripping down her cheeks. She looked up at him, pleading.

Alistair forced his tongue to move.

“Where is your coat, Kallian.” he whispered, hoarsely.

“I… in the back of my closet.”

“And the bat?”

“Under my bed.”

“Fetch them.” Kallian looked at him oddly, but vanished out the back door. It would take her less than two minutes to get to her house. Add one minute to fetch the things. Two minutes back. Five minutes in total, five minutes to figure out what the hell he was going to do.

When she came back, he still had no idea.

* * *

 

When Alistair came home, he went straight to where he expected to find his wife. It turned out he was correct; she was in the garden, methodically pruning a beautiful rosebush.

“Beatrice” he said in a tone she had never heard before. “Come inside. We need to talk.”

She carefully put the pruning shears in her apron pocket, then slowly followed him inside.

“Tea?” he asked, not looking at her as he filled the kettle.

“Alistair-”

“I said, do you want any TEA?” He yelled, throwing the kettle into the sink. He leaned heavily on the sink, breath hitching as he fought not to cry.

Her tiny hands found his back, her chin his shoulder.

“When did you find out?” she asked, softly.

He started to cry. “Today. Maker, Bee, did you really think I wouldn't figure it out? I’m a _guardsman!”_

“I… was afraid you’d lose your job.” her tone was frail, helpless.

“My job?” he laughed hysterically, through his tears. “Who gives a fuck? It’s just a job.” he spun around, taking her arms into his hands with hands that were too rough, forming bruises. He shook her roughly. “Bee, don’t you see that you could go to prison over this! I could lose YOU!”

Beatrice looked up at him with wide, frightened eyes. She’d never seen him this beside himself, not even when his father died.

Alistair let go of her arms and fell to his knees pressing his face to her stomach as he sobbed.

“You won’t lose us” Beatrice soothed as she wrapped her arms around him. “I promise, you won’t lose us.”

But she wasn't sure she was going to be able to keep that promise.

 

* * *

 

 

Alistair felt like death warmed over as he parked his car in his designed space outside the station. He had slept very little the previous night, Kallian’s words and the brief written message twisting into horrifying nightmares that all seemed to end with shadowy figures taking Beatrice and the babies away from him. The indecision over Kallian weighed heavily on him even now, and he would much rather be anywhere else than at his job. But Caelan Hawke deserved justice, and if it was the last thing Alistair did he was going to give it to him.

Grimly, he escorted Carver Hawke into interrogation room one.

Zevran and the interpreter proved to already be waiting, and Alistair startled badly when he realised that it was Cyrion sitting there with a serene expression on his weathered face. As the older elf saw Carver, he raised his hands and signed something. Then he looked at Alistair and spoke:

“I introduced myself and explained that I will interpret this hearing.”

“Very well” Alistair sighed and sat down on the last available chair. It meant that he and Zevran were seated at one side of the table, Carver on the other, and Cyrion sat at the edge of the table where he was clearly visible to the others.

“Hearing with Carver Hawke.” Zevran said professionally for the recording even as he looked at Alistair with worried eyes. “Present are detectives Alistair Theirin and Zevran Arainai. Also present is Cyrion Tabris, sign language interpreter.”

Alistair looked a the young man in front of him, considering where it would be best to start. Then he decided to take the direct approach.

“I found the note” he said, and Carver looked questioningly at Cyrion. He then signed something back, and Cyrion spoke.

“I was wondering if you had, since you never said anything.”

“Why didn’t you let us now earlier?”

A hopeless look. “She’s my mother.”

After that, it didn’t take much poking before Carver told them everything.

 

_\---Flashback---_

_It was late, but Carver still felt his speed up as he read the brief text._ ‘Meet you in fifteen minutes, beautiful’. _Where he stood by his window, he could see Anna and Caelan leave the house, get into their respective cars, then drive away. From experience, he knew that this meant that Bethany would shortly go up to bed and Mum would put away the dishes before going out into the back garden for a sneaky cigarette. Since dad had already retired to the living room to read a little, no one would see him sneak out through his window,_ _across the garage roof and into the street. Then Donnic would be waiting just around the corner in his warm car, greeting him with those kisses that always made his brain short-circuit. They’d drive up to Lookout Point and… well. It was lucky Donnic’s car had such a roomy backseat. Except this night, things didn’t progress like they usually did on Thursday nights. In fact, as he waited for Bethany to go into her room and close the door, making her light disappear from the hallway floor, he saw something strange. Leandra left the house, and from her movements Carver figured she was angry about something. He didn’t know what. But it was strange, how she was wearing Anna’s yellow raincoat. And she seemed to be holding something in her hand, but he couldn’t see what in the dull glow of the street lights. As he watched in rising confusion, she got into her car and drove away._

 _Carver stood by the window for several minutes, completely confused, until his phone vibrating in his hand made him look at the display. A text from “D”: ‘_ where are you, babe?’. _Feeling his traitorous heart skip a beat, Carver opened his window and climbed out. Whatever it was that mum went off to do this late, it couldn't be more important than him seeing the man he loved._

\---End flashback.---

 

Alistair felt his headache from the previous night returning.

“It was most likely the bat” he said quietly to Zevran, who looked grim.

“For confirmation” Zevran said, “when did you get the new metal bat?”

The answer came quickly.

“That day. But the old one… didn’t vanish until... “ Carver looked like he was close to tears.

“Until after your brother was attacked.” Alistair finished, feeling every day of his years. Carver hung his head, briefly. Then he looked up with grim determination.

“Did you see her return?” Zevran asked. Carver shook his head.

“No.” he replied, “but… it was pretty late when-” he blushed and didn't finish. He didn’t need to.

“And you didn’t say anything to us the next day.”

“You didn’t have an interpreter with you and mum was there!”

“So you gave me the note. Which slipped from my pocket and ended up under the seat in my car.” Alistair pinched the bridge of his nose. A stupid coincidence had delayed everything. Had cost Merrill her life, nearly cost Caelan his.

“Then a few days later my insulin went missing. Mum said she’d picked up the prescription but I couldn’t find the bottle.” Carver went on.

“So it was your insulin.” Zevran whispered, and Alistair cold see the wheels turning in his head. He was seeing the picture too, now.

“But how did she get in?” Alistair frowned. Once more, Carver gave him the answer.

“Bethany is an intern at Andraste’s Grace.”

“So she’d know the routines, have a uniform…” Alistair shook his head. “Maker’s breath, to be so cold… your own _brother._ Your _child._ ”

“She did it for love” Carver signed. “I can understand that.”

And, Andraste preserve him, Alistair could understand it, too.

 

* * *

 

 

Leandra stood by Caelan’s bedside, looking down at his bruised, beautiful face. She was alone with him for once; the guard who usually sat on a chair in the corner of the room had left momentarily. Bathroom break, she figured. It didn’t matter; all that mattered now was her boy. She thought of what the doctors had said; blind. Possible paralysis. Uncertain future. And she had caused it all. This was all her fault; she had ruined her baby’s life. For what? For what she wanted him to be. For her daughter's happiness. But what sort of excuse was that? She had seen, in the days since the attack, just how devastated Anders was. How could she possibly have ever deluded herself into thinking he’d be better off with her daughter? Perhaps it was the dream of grandchildren. With two gay sons and one sterile daughter, Bethany had been her only hope.

But it was an empty hope, she realised. A hope bought with her son’s blood. Leandra started to cry, those damnable tears that never seemed to end.

There was nothing she could do, now. Nothing but this one last thing. She leaned down and kissed his beautiful brown eyes, that never would see anything ever again.

Then she picked up the pillow.

 

* * *

 

 

Alistair and Zevran sat in Alistair's car, none of them speaking. They knew that they needed to do - make an arrest - but it was as if they were golems without controlling rods.

“His mother” Zevran whispered. “Makers balls. His _mother._ ”

Alistair made an odd noise, somewhere between a hysterical laugh and a sob.

“Sister too” he managed. Zevran shook his head.

“What a mess” he said, voice still barely above a whisper. As if there was something in the air that would shatter if he spoke louder.

“At least Kallian’s in the clear” Alistair tried, but heard how false it sounded.

“I suppose she is” Zevran said, not looking at him.

The strange silence was shattered then, by Zevran’s phone. He answered it with obvious reluctance, that quickly turned into shock.

“What?? Are you joki- no. No of course not.” he ran a hand through his hair. “We’ll… we’ll be over as fast as possible.” He gestured desperately to Alistair to drive, mouthing _‘hospital’_ as he listened intently to the person on the other end. Alistair asked no questions; he started the car and floored it.

 

* * *

 

 

Anders stared at Bethany with beautiful hazel eyes that did not have the expression they should have. They were cold, as if she was something repulsive he’d just scraped of his shoe.

“I did not hear you say that.” He said, denial and a slowly creeping fury clear in his tone. It made her feel cold. He shouldn’t look at her like that when she told him how much she loved him.

“No but don’t you see” she begged desperately, “mum’s taken care of everything! Now we can be married!”

“Married?” Anders asked, incredulous. Was she completely delusional? “What the hell do you mean, taken care of-” he froze, face clouding with a horrible suspicion. “Calean!” he hissed, and before she had any chance to stop him he was gone. Her Anders. And with him, her whole world. In the distance, the front door slammed shut behind him.

Bethany stood very still, the world thrown off kilter and shattered. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. If Calean had only had the good sense to die in that alley! Then she wouldn’t have had to go to the hospital. And then he hadn’t died then, either. The selfish bastard. She had never hated anyone more in her life than she did that Monday, after the vernissage, when Caelan had showed up at school to take Anders on a lunch date. _A date!_ As if he didn't understand that Anders was hers. _She_ was his best student. _She_ was the one he called brilliant. _She c_ ould give him children. He wanted children, he’d said so.

She’d believed Merrill when she said she could break them up, but that had been a lie. And then she was going to call the guards. She’d have ruined _everything_. Bethany hadn’t know she had so much anger in her. Anger enough to kill. She was just glad she hadn’t gotten any blood on her coat. She loved her coat, Anna had an identical one but it looked better on Bethany. Then again, Anna didn't really look good in anything with that arm.

Bethany left the apartment in a daze, not noticing if she even closed the door. It didn’t matter. It was over. She had failed. Anders didn’t love her. He still wanted Caelan. It wasn’t _fair_. Caelan always got _everything!_ She had done it all for nothing.

 

She walked down the street with determination. She knew it was only a matter of time before the guards came for her. Well, she wasn’t going to give Caelan the satisfaction. He might have won the battle, but the war was hers. She headed towards the subway station.

 

The subway train driver saw the girl in the yellow raincoat too late. He didn't have time to stop.


	12. Chapter 12

_But I guess they were wrong,_

_In life you're sailing along_

_And things don't turn out_

_As simple as they seem._

_"Boney M, "Boat on the river -_

 

Alistair stared at the woman on the other side of the table. Leandra Hawke had once been a beautiful woman, but now she only looked old. Old and broken. She had been calm and collected when she was bought in, but he had just delivered the tragic news of Bethany’s death. Lendra hung her head, but she did not cry. It was as if she was too weary for sorrow.

“Where do you want me to begin.” She sighed, clasping her cuffed hands in front of her on the table.

“Start with the beginning.”

And she did.

 

_\--Leandra’s story--_

_Caelan and Bethany had been rivals since they were little. Over everything. Gifts, clothes, friends, attention. But no, that wasn’t true. It would be more correct to say that Bethany had always wanted so much, and Caelan got the same things without effort. He had a magnetism, always drawing people to him with the force of a crooked smile. Both Anna and Carver had dealt with it by going their own way; Anna a tomboy, best in the rough games, wilder than anyone. And Carver, who had been unique with his disability. But Bethany had been her baby, her angel, the one she always snuck the biggest cookie, the best present, the extra money. Was that when it had begun?_

_She remembered Bethany coming home with stars in her eyes, talking about a handsome new teacher. And she had Hoped. And then… then Caelan had seen him and wanted him. And Bethany had been pushed to the side again. But it had been different this time; this time, Bethany hadn’t just let go and let Caelan have what he wanted. What they both wanted. And she had seen her daughter suffer for it. Had heard her cry late at night._

_But she still had clung to the hope, the foolish hope that this time her little angel would be victorious. Was that wrong of her? Maybe._

_Then, the ring. That damn ring, and she had known. Had known Caelan had won again. And she’d been so angry. He threw away a decent girl and his sister’s happiness and he didn’t even care._

_So she’d followed him. She’d worn her daughter’s raincoat to keep the drizzle out, and she’d taken Carver’s old cricket bat. He had a new one; it wouldn’t be missed._

_And she followed him._

_And she found, that when she had swung once, she was unable to stop._

_\--end--_

 

“But then he didn’t die” Alistair felt impossibly tired. “So you tried again. With the pillow.”

“Yes. Oh maker, I couldn't believe it. That I was capable… my sweet boy.”

She could see in his eyes that he wanted to know why, but she didn’t know what to tell him. She didn't know where it had come from. There was nothing more to be said.

Her little angel was dead, and her sweet boy was going to live.

Perhaps one day, she would be able to find peace in that.

They stared at each other across the table for several moments, she and detective Theirin.

Finally, he said, in a calm voice:

“Interrogation ended at 11.56.”

He turned off the recorder, then shook his head.

“I’m never going to understand you.” He said, then he stood up and left the room.

She couldn’t fault him.

She didn’t understand herself either.

 

* * *

 

 

The woman at the reception desk of Denerim Guard District 9 was bored. Horrifyingly bored. And she didn’t think that the elf woman who stood before her was going to help matters. She was young, with long dark hair and an expression on her thin face that suggested she was going to start bawling any minute. She was clutching a black garbage bag as if her life depended on it.

“Yes?” the receptionist said, not hiding how annoyed she was at having to deal with the elf.

“My name is Kallian Tabris.” The voice was surprisingly steady. “I’m here to turn myself in.”

The receptionist raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow in disdain.

“Oh? What did you do?”

“I killed a man.”

The receptionist stared at the elf in surprise. She’d have never thought that she had it in her.

 

* * *

 

 

Caelan sat up slowly, gripping Anders’ hand for support so hard it must have been painful. The nausea immediately crashed over him and with a low groan he sank back toward the pillows.

“Do you want some water?” Anna’s voice, anxious.

“Please” he croaked and a straw was held to his lips. He drank greedily.

“Alright. Once more into the breach.” he said determinedly and sat up again, this time slower. It went better now, it still felt a if he was aboard a ship at full storm but the doctor had said that the feeling would most likely abate over time. The blindness, however, would not. The knowledge that he was never going to see Anders’ smile again was a dull ache deep inside, one that he was going to have to learn to live with. And he felt like he could, because he could feel how much his lover adored him in the way he pressed his hand. He just had to not think about how the last thing he saw before this fall into neverending darkness had been his mother raising a bloody bat over his head.

Caelan stood on shaking legs, feeling a tremulous smile spread over his face at this small victory. Somewhere to his right, he heard his sister whoop with joy. But her joy, though wonderful, took a back seat to wrapping his arms around Anders again, feeling the other man fit perfectly into his embrace.

“I love you so much” he whispered into hair he knew to be golden.

 

* * *

 

Kallian looked up as the door to the interrogation room opened. For a moment she felt completely terrified that it might be Zevran or Alistair, but in the doorway stood a tall human woman with dusky skin and dark hair put up in an elegant style she couldn't name but looked expensive. She was dressed in a dark purple suit and had a small brown leather briefcase in her hand.

“Hello Kallian” she said gently in a softly accented voice.

“Hello” Kallian replied, unsure of the situation.

The woman in the purple suit smiled kindly as she came into the room, closing the door behind her.

She took the seat opposite Kallian and looked at her with kind brown eyes.

“I am your legal council. My name is Josephine Pavus.”

 

 

 

_Slip the jesses, my love;_

_This hunter you own, from the hood to the glove._

_When the circling and striking are done, and I land -_

_let me come back to your hand.”_

_-  Heather Dale, “Hunter”_


End file.
